Gifts
by Muffy Morrigan
Summary: Dean discovers sometimes the greatest sacrifices aren't that big after all, and the smallest gifts can make all the difference. Hurt!Sick Sam
1. The Impala

_A/N: I know this is short, but sometimes chapters want to end where they do. For those of you waiting for In Darkness, I should have a chapter up this week. I'm completing the final edits on my novel and I was having a hard time "hearing" Sam and Dean. Thanks much to TraSan!_

**Gifts**

**Chapter One**

Traffic was light as Dean drove through the small city. He'd waited a little longer than usual before setting out. He had a surprise, and he wanted to make sure everything was ready before he set out. The extra half hour meant rush hour had dwindled to nothing. There were several cars in front of him when he pulled up, he waited patiently, tapping his fingers lightly in time with the music. Finally it was his turn and he pulled up to the valet.

"Morning, Dean," the valet said as he got out.

"Morning, Rafe. Park close, I hope to be leaving in a couple of hours," Dean said, tossing him the keys.

"A couple of hours?"

"Yeah." Dean grinned. "I hope."

"Really?" Rafe smiled at him. "I hope so too."

Dean walked through the doors, smiling at the woman sitting behind the desk. He poked impatiently at the elevator button, waiting for it to arrive, then pushed the floor number, trying to coax the doors to close faster with repeated pokes. _Come on, come on. _He was getting nervous, wondering if he'd made the right decision. _Too late now. _The door opened and he stepped out.

"Hi, Cindy," he said.

"Hi, Dean, you're late." She smiled at him.

"I know, Alan around?"

"He just finished, I think he's getting coffee."

"Thanks, I'll be right back." He turned and walked down the hall, following the corridor to the small espresso stand tucked in the back corner of the floor. The barista smiled at him and started his coffees. Dean spotted the tall man sitting at a table, papers spread out before him. "Alan?"

"Dean, you're late."

"Yeah, I know. I wanted to take care of everything we talked about."

"They told me you stopped yesterday and finished up the last of the training," Alan said, smiling.

"Yep. I'm a pro now." Dean smiled, then sighed.

"It's the right choice. You know that. I'll be by later tonight."

"I can't thank you enough for everything."

"You helped me, Dean. I'm just sorry this had to happen," the older man said sadly.

"It's okay. I think it'll be okay, now."

"I'll let them know to have the paperwork ready so you can make your escape."

"Thanks." Dean picked up the coffees and walked back down the hall. He stopped at the set of double doors, his heart aching a little—it did every day at this point. He took a deep breath and pushed past them, hoping it would be the last time. The door to the room was open, he could hear the TV droning inside. "Coffee's here," he said, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"You're late."

"I know, sorry." Dean put the coffee down on the tray.

"With whipped cream?"

"Do you think she'd forget the whip?" Dean asked, dropping into the chair. He looked at his brother's face, drawn in pain, pale, dark circles like bruises under his eyes. "How do you feel?"

"Better today, Dean," Sam said, picking up the coffee in a shaking hand.

"Good, you up for an adventure?"

"I don't think I want another wheelchair race with the little girl down the hall."

"It's better than that, Sammy," Dean said gently, trying to force the lump out of his throat and the ache out of his chest.

"Electric wheelchairs?"

"I thought you might want to come home."

"Home?" Tears were suddenly in Sam's eyes.

"I got us a place, Sam, Alan said you could come home."

"I don't have to be here anymore?" The tears were running down Sam's face.

"No, Sammy, we can go home."

"When?"

"Now too soon?" Dean smiled when his brother brushed the tears off his face.

"Now is perfect."

Dean beeped the nurse and once Sam was unhooked, Dean helped him get dressed, carefully wrapping him in a heavy fleece sweater he'd bought the day before. "Ready, Sammy?"

"Yeah," his brother said quietly. Dean helped him into the wheelchair he'd rented and dropped off the day before. He'd been planning this surprise for a long time. _Please don't let it backfire. _As they rolled down the hall towards the elevators other patients waved to Sam, the nurses stopped them to give his brother hugs. Cindy gave them a plate of cookies. "Why do I think I was the last one to know?"

"You were, it would have ruined the surprise." Dean pushed the chair into the elevator and down to the valet parking Rafe smiled at them and went to get the car. This was the moment Dean had been dreading. Rafe pulled up, got out and handed Dean the keys. "Thanks." Sam had stiffened, his breathing altered, Dean could hear the ragged note.

"Dean?" Sam whispered. "Where's the Impala?"

_**To Be Continued**_


	2. Home Coming

_A/N: I've back this up a little to Sam, so we know a little more of what's going on before Dean arrives._

**Gifts**

**Chapter Two**

The sun was slanting through the curtains when Sam woke. He lay quietly for several minutes, listening to the morning sounds around him. The nurses were starting their early rounds, the TV from Mr. Soronson's room was already on, and he could hear Kimmie's laughter. He suspected Alan was with her, the doctor always made her laugh. Sam sighed and tried to shift a little in the bed. They'd had a long one brought in, but his toes still hovered precariously close to the edge. He looked at the clock, it was still at least an hour until Dean arrived.

There was a soft tap on the door. "Sam?" a low male voice asked.

"Yeah?" he said, looking over.

"You ready for breakfast?" Joey opened the door and peeked in.

"I guess," Sam said. Joey came in and set the food down on the bedside tray, fussing for a minute to get it the right height. Sam suppressed a sigh. It happened every morning. _One day I will just pick it up and toss the whole thing, food, tray and Joey out the door. _Joey lifted the cover from the food with a flourish. "Thanks." Sam tried to smile and picked up the fork, pushing it into the stack of pancakes, he managed to cut a piece and get it to his mouth. _I wonder if he knows how much it takes to do that? _

"Good job, Sam," Joey said with a smile. He patted Sam's shoulder and left the room.

As soon as he was gone, Sam dropped the fork and leaned back in the bed, staring at the ceiling. There was a stain over the bed. He spent a lot of time wondering where it had come from. It was dark, Dean kept insisting it wasn't blood, Sam suspected it was. Pain was starting to throb along his back, leg and arm. He punched the button on the drip and waited as the morphine took the worst of the edge off.

"Still not eating?"

Sam looked up, Alan was standing just inside the door. "I took a bite," he said, pointing at the plate.

"You need to eat more than a bite, Sam." Alan pulled the chair over to the bed. "How are you today?" Sam sighed. "The nurses told me you had a bad night," Alan said gently. "Nightmares again?"

"Yeah, over and over."

"It's to be expected after what happened, Sam. The depression is still bad, too?"

"Yeah," Sam said. He'd learn to trust the tall doctor over the past few weeks. "It's not getting any better."

"Dean and I were discussing a different treatment option."

"I don't want to be drugged, Alan. I mean not so much I don't know what's going on."

"I know. We'll talk when Dean gets here." Alan stood. "Ready?" Sam nodded and the doctor ran through the now-routine tests.

"Any improvement?" Sam asked, watching the other's face. When Alan hesitated, Sam nodded again. "I didn't think so."

"How's the new line? More comfortable?" Alan said as he checked the PIK line in Sam's left arm. They'd put the new semi-permanent IV line in the day before. Sam had asked why they'd suddenly decided to do it. He'd been told that it was for his comfort.

"Yeah, thanks. Krystal brought in a new wheelchair last night," Sam said to distract himself as Alan checked his legs.

"Dean rented it for you, he thought it would be more comfortable for you than the one we have." Alan chuckled. "He said you looked like Sasquatch in a stroller." Sam laughed a little at that. "He said he'd be by to break it in this morning."

"And bring me my coffee," Sam said, hearing the wistful note in his voice. "Is there any hope, Alan?"

"Of course there is, Sam."

"But even, even if I can… What about the infection? I can't spend the rest of my life with a PIK line in for IV meds, trapped in this place." He stopped himself, the doctor was frowning at his bitter tone. "Sorry," he said, dropping his head.

"It's okay, I do understand. We're trying to figure out the infection."

"I might be able to help, if I can ever…" Sam stopped again, trying to stop the tears that were burning in his eyes. "Sometimes I want to die, Alan," he whispered. "I just…" The tears started. Sam tried to stop, it hurt, it always hurt when he cried. "Hurts."

"Try and breathe through it," Alan said, lifting Sam up and supporting him with a hand on his back. "It will get better, Sam."

"How can it?" he said, the sobs pulling injured muscles, sending a spasm of agony along his spine. Sam felt a warm rush in his arm and pressure at the base of his neck. He leaned into Alan, letting the drug work through his system, hating that he needed it, welcoming the fact it took away a little of the pain, a little of the despair, a little of the day. The sobs slowed, Alan lowered him back to the bed. "Sorry," Sam mumbled.

"It's okay, Sam. How're you feeling?"

"With that shot it me? I might be able to fly."

Alan chuckled. "I think we'll avoid flying for awhile." He sat back in the chair and made notes on the chart. "Do you want to talk about the nightmares?"

"What's to say?" Sam said, looking over. Once the drug was in his system, he got talkative. Alan knew that and occasionally took advantage of it.

"Tell me about it."

"It's all jumbled up with other stuff." Sam poked at the IV in his right arm. "Are they going to take this out? With the new line?"

"Yes. Your dream?"

"Oh, right. Like I said it's all jumbled up with other stuff, but it always starts in the smoke. I can smell the smoke. You know it's weird they haven't banned smoking in bars here." Sam blinked. "They have most places. I remember thinking that, in the dream. It's full of monsters, but they don't bother me too much. Dean walks over to get us a couple of beers and then…" Sam stopped, the tears were there again.

"Then?" Alan said gently.

"It's nothing specific, but suddenly I'm afraid. I turn around and there's the woman. She's standing in front of me, then pain, I can hear Dean screaming, screaming my name, screaming for help. I wake up around then."

"Have you told Dean?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You know how he feels about what happened, Alan. He blames himself."

"Maybe you need to talk about it. It might help, Sam."

"Later, maybe, if I can ever…" Sam swallowed and looked away. "Maybe."

"Good." Alan stood. "We'll talk about that new treatment when Dean gets here, why don't you watch a little TV?"

"Sure," Sam said, feeling fuzzy. "Cartoons are always good with a little something in me." He smiled. "I hate the stuff, Alan."

"I know you do. Will you try and eat a little more breakfast?"

"I'll try." Sam picked up the fork again, knowing Alan was watching him, understanding the doctor wanted to see how he was doing. He cut a piece and slowly raised it. Sam managed to get five bites before he was completely exhausted.

"Good job. You can have your coffee."

"Thanks." Sam leaned back in the bed, letting his eyes close. At least he could sleep for a minute without the dream.

"Coffee's here." Dean's voice woke him sometime later.

Sam glanced at the clock. "You're late."

"I know, sorry." Dean put the coffee down on the tray.

"With whipped cream?" Sam looked at his brother. Dean had dark circles under his eyes, there was tension in the set of his brother's shoulders.

"Do you think she'd forget the whip?" Dean asked, making a little _tsking _noise and dropping into the chair. "How do you feel?"

"Better today, Dean," Sam said, picking up the coffee in a shaking hand. He took a sip, aware Dean's eyes followed each movement.

"Good, you up for an adventure?" Dean smiled, it was the first real smile Sam had seen from Dean in a very long time. The kind that lit his face and sparkled in his eyes. It was Dean's "I've been up to something" smile. Sam remembered looking for that smile when he'd been a kid. It always meant a little treat of some kind.

"I don't think I want another wheelchair race with the little girl down the hall." Sam smiled back.

"It's better than that, Sammy," Dean said.

"Electric wheelchairs?"

Dean took a deep breath, the smile fell from his face, and laid a hand on Sam's arm. "I thought you might want to come home."

"Home?" Sam asked, trying to blink tears away.

"I got us a place, Sam, Alan said you could come home."

"I don't have to be here anymore?" He bit back a sob when he looked at Dean. His brother's eyes were red, a single tear had broken loose and was running down his face.

"No, Sammy, we can go home."

"When?"

"Now too soon?" Dean asked, smiling again.

"Now is perfect." Sam brushed the tears off his face, trying to control his breathing

Dean beeped the nurse. She came in with a broad smile on her face. "Ready for the great escape?"

"Yep," Dean said, watching as she unhooked Sam and pulled the IV from his right arm. Dean grabbed Sam's clothes out of the closet and carefully helped him dress. Once he was finished, Dean produced a large fleece sweater which he wrapped around Sam so gently, Sam wondered if his brother thought he was made out of eggshells. "Ready, Sammy?"

"Yeah."

Dean helped him swing his legs off the bed and then helped him into the wheelchair. Dean grinned as he grabbed a bag out of the closet. "I packed after you went to sleep last night, Sammy." He slung the bag over his shoulder and pushed Sam out of the room. The other patients on the floor had come to their doors, they waved at Sam as he rolled by. There was a smattering of applause. Sam blushed. Dean stopped in front of the nurses' station. Cindy gave Dean a large plate of cookies and they all hugged Sam.

"Why do I think I was the last one to know?" Sam asked his brother rolled the chair to the elevator.

"You were," Dean chuckled. "It would have ruined the surprise."

When the elevator reached the main floor, Sam could sense tension in his brother. He wasn't sure where it was coming from, but Dean was nervous about something. They rolled out the doors and Sam took a deep breath, being outside was almost overwhelming. Dean nodded to the guy in the valet vest and the man disappeared. While Sam waited for the car, he watched other people arrive. A small brown car pulled up in the parking area and the valet got out. Sam looked around for the owner of the car. His heart nearly stopped when the man tossed the keys to Dean. "Thanks," Dean said.

_Oh, god, Dean, what did you do? _"Dean?" Sam whispered. "Where's the Impala?"

"What?" Dean said, pushing him towards the small car.

"The Impala, Dean, where is it?" Sam felt a sob building in his chest, he couldn't breath around the ache.

"Hey, this is a luxury car, Sammy." Dean stopped and opened the door, carefully lifting Sam into the seat. Dean closed the door, Sam heard the trunk open. He looked in the passenger mirror, Dean was putting the chair in the back. It went in easy, Sam had the sudden impression his brother had been practicing. "Ready?" Dean asked as he dropped into the driver seat. "Check it out. Moon roof." He opened the top. "CD player, electric windows, keyless entry. Luxury car."

"In what year, Dean?" Sam managed to get around the lump in his throat. _Oh, god, Dean._

"What year?" Dean looked around the small interior. "Does that matter?"

"Dean?"

"It's an eighty-seven, Sam."

"Where's the Impala?" Sam asked again, knowing the answer.

"She has a good home, Sam. I checked." Dean smiled. "She'll be safe and loved there."

"Dean…" Sam felt tears running down his face. His brother reached over and gently patted his chest. Sam put his hand over Dean's.

"Should we get coffee on the way home?" Dean asked brightly a moment later. He still had his hand on Sam's chest. "We forgot ours in our escape. There's a really nice place on the way home. Carol makes these chocolate chip muffins that are nearly orgasmic." He glanced at Sam with a smirk. "Maybe in your condition we should avoid those."

"I might be able to choke one down," Sam said, smiling through the tears that were still in his eyes.

Dean pulled into a bright pink coffee stand a few minutes later. Sam had been watching the town pass by, the trees were tinged with gold and red. _Autumn arrived and I missed it. _The thought was bitter. Sam sighed.

"Hi, Dean!" a young woman said, opening the window.

"Hi, Pooh," Dean said with a grin. "Guess what?"

"What?" She looked into the car. "Is that Sam?"

"Yep."

"Hi, Sam," she said, leaning out the window. "Vanilla latte with whip, right?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Dean told me." She beamed at him. "It's on the house. Today's the big day! And a muffin, too!" She handed Dean two cups and a dark chocolate muffin. "Yours is on the house, too, Dean. Welcome home, Sam."

"Thanks, Pooh." Dean smiled at Sam. "How's the coffee?"

"Good. How'd she know what I drink?"

"I told her you were coming home soon, and she'd need to remember what you like." Dean pulled into traffic. "This is on the way to the park where I thought we could take walks."

"Walks, Dean?" Sam said bitterly.

"Yep." Dean turned into a small cul de sac. "Here we are." He pulled into the driveway of a small apartment building. "You're going to love this place, Sammy." Dean got out and brought the chair around to Sam. "You're in charge of the coffee." Dean helped him into the chair and handed him the cups. He pushed the wheelchair along a twisting path. "I made it myself," Dean said proudly.

"What?" Sam looked up, instead of stairs there was a small ramp leading to one porch. "You made it?" The tears were back.

"Yep." Dean grinned as he rolled Sam up the ramp. "Sometimes I amaze even myself."

"That doesn't sound too hard."

"Good boy, have to test your geek muscles now and then."

"At least they work," Sam said, hearing the bitterness in his voice and hating it. Dean sighed. "Sorry."

"It's okay, Sammy. Here." Dean took the cups, set them on the porch and pressed a key in his hand. "You open the door."

"Okay." Sam unlocked the door and turned the knob. Dean pushed him inside. A good-sized living room was to the right as they walked in, the kitchen was to the left. A large hand printed sign hung over the door to a small garden. "Welcome Home Sammy" Dean had put up a few streamers, they dangled from the curtain rod over the glass doors. Sam bit his lip to keep from crying.

"Well?" Dean asked quietly. "Want the tour?" Sam nodded, it was all he could manage. Dean moved the chair into the living room, then into a large hallway. He opened the first door. "This was the second bedroom, I made it into a therapy room. There's a bunch of stuff the OT and Alan said we should have." Sam looked in, brushing the tears out of his eyes so he could see the shiny new exercise equipment. Dean moved on.

"This is the bedroom. I got the best bed I could find." There were two beds in the large room. One a hospital-style bed. "It's the extra, extra long one, Sammy." They went into the bedroom to another door. Dean opened it. "Master bath. I did all the work in here, too." He pushed Sam into the bathroom and opened the extra large door on the shower. "Check it out." There were handrails and a waterproof stool in the double-size stall.

"You did it?"

"Hand rails, new shower, larger stall, the toilet, too. It's a little higher and those rails won't go anywhere. Trust me, I tested them."

"You did it?" Sam heard his voice crack.

"Sammy?" Dean said, concerned. "Let's get back into the living room. You must be tired." Dean pushed him back down the hall and into the living room. "There's a pool and hot tub out the back. It's for community use, but no one really uses them There's a sauna too. I checked, Alan said it was okay in small doses and the property manager said it was fine to use the tub for therapy until you can take the pool. The pool's a lot cooler."

"Oh."

"This is yours, too." Dean parked the wheelchair next to an oversized pink chair. "Sorry about the color, it was the only one they had. It's a recliner with all the bells and whistles. I tried it out." Dean grinned and raised his eyebrows.

"What?"

"I didn't try it with anyone, Sam, what do you think I am?" Dean smiled. "And I set it so you can watch TV and look out into the garden."

"Oh."

"Sammy?"

"What?"

"Want to try it out? Maybe later head out to the park?"

"Okay. I am a little tired."

"Sure you are." Dean locked the brakes and gently lifted Sam onto his feet. Sam leaned into his brother, pulling him close, the tears finally breaking loose. Dean wrapped his arms around him and held him.

"You sold the Impala"

"Yeah." Dean tightened his arms. Sam realized his brother was supporting all his weight.

"Dean…"

"It's going to be okay," Dean said quietly. Sam could hear tears in his brother's voice. Sam cried harder, holding on to Dean. "I promise." Sam shook his head. "Yes, Sam." Dean held him for another moment then gently pulled away, lowering Sam into the chair. "I'll get a blanket."

"Thanks." The chair was soft, Sam sank into it with a relieved sigh. He closed his eyes. Dean came back and laid the blanket over him, then tipped the chair back. Sam felt the warmth of a heater behind his back. _Heated? What did this cost? _"Dean…" He reached out for his brother's hand, Dean caught it in his own. "I'm sorry."

"It's going to be okay, Sam," Dean said again.

Sam shook his head. Pain was beginning to creep back, pulling what little strength he had left away. He took a deep breath, hoping to control it, not wanting to let Dean know.

"Hang on." Dean dropped his hand. A moment later Sam felt a push against the port of the PIK line, the warm rush of a painkiller slid into him. He sighed. Dean laid a gentle hand on his chest. "Sleep, Sammy."

"Okay, Dean." He put his hand over Dean's, not wanting that comforting warmth to leave yet.

"I'll be here."

"Thanks." Sam closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

_**To Be Continued**_


	3. First Day Home

**Gifts**

**Chapter Three**

Dean stayed with his hand on Sam's chest until he was sure his brother was asleep. Once Sam started snoring softly, he moved away, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the hook by the door. Sam's breathing paused, Dean walked back into the living room and waited for the next rise of his chest. Sam hadn't done that before this happened. Dean asked Alan about it, the doctor said with the damage and the infection, it was to be expected. _Nice, to be expected. Except every time it happens I panic. _

He looked at his brother. Sam had lost weight, his hair was a little longer than he generally wore it, there were lines caused by pain etched on his face. _He was crying before I came in this morning. _His brother's eyes were still puffy, Dean knew it wasn't just because of the tears right before Sam went to sleep. Sam had been slipping further and further into depression. Dean discussed it with Alan and Sam's idiot psychiatrist. Eventually, Dean had come up with the plan to get a home for Sam, so he didn't have to stay in the long-term care wing any longer. Alan had agreed, the doctor was worried Sam was hovering on the edge of being suicidal. The idiot psychiatrist had disagreed, oddly for the same reason.

Once Alan had given the thumbs up, Dean started looking for a place. He'd stumbled across the apartment completely by accident. After talking with the owner and property manager, he'd gotten the go ahead to make the needed changes for Sam. Dean's own depression and sense of helplessness dissipated a little as he worked on the apartment, each trip to the hardware store meant one step closer to bringing Sam home.

With a sigh, Dean walked out to the car to get Sam's bag. He carried it to bedroom and started unpacking, as he did, he noticed the hospital smell of the clothing. Dean pulled the clothes out of the drawer and headed to the small utility room behind the kitchen. One of the selling points for the apartment had been the washer and dryer. He dumped everything in and turned the washer on. Once the washing was going, Dean checked on Sam, then wandered into the bedroom. He double checked everything one more time, making sure the remotes for the TV and DVD player worked and that Sam could reach the stack of books Dean had left on the table beside the bed.

"DEAN!" Sam's cry had him back in the living room in less than three seconds. "Please, no!" Sam flinched in his sleep.

"Sammy?" Dean put his hands on his brother's shoulders and gave him a little shake. "Sam?" He shook a little harder, this time Sam's eyes opened. "Hey."

"Dean?" Sam looked around. "Where am I?"

"Home, remember?" Dean frowned, a little knot of concern slowly tying itself at the base of his neck.

"Home?" Sam blinked.

"Yeah, Sammy, home." Dean pulled a chair over so he could sit beside his brother. "Nightmare?"

"Yeah." Sam looked away.

"About that night?" Dean put his hand on Sam's arm.

"Yeah."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"No."

"What?" Dean asked.

"No." Sam looked at him. "I… I don't really remember." Sam said the words so fast Dean knew he was lying, but he decided to let it go. They had time now to talk, time without doctors and nurses and everyone else walking in and out of the room.

"Right. How do you feel?"

"A little better, maybe." Sam said quietly. Dean watched his brother's face as he answered. "Yeah, maybe a little better."

"Would you like to get out? It's not too cold. There's a park not far from here, I thought we could walk there."

"Walk, Dean?" Sam said bitterly.

"Yeah, it's a great place," Dean said, deliberately ignoring the tone of Sam's voice. He stood and walked to the bedroom, grabbing a coat and hat for Sam. When he got back to the living room, Sam was sitting with the recliner in the upright position. Dean took it as a good sign. He carefully helped Sam into the coat.

"I can manage the hat, Dean," Sam said, reaching a shaking hand for the cap.

"You always need help with your hat, Sam." Dean pulled the hat onto his brother's head, pulling it down over Sam's eyes. "See? You wouldn't have done it that way."

"You're right," Sam muttered, shoving the hat up. Dean pulled it down again, Sam huffed and pushed it up. Dean pulled it down. The bitter pinch to Sam's lips was giving way to a smile. "Knock it off," Sam said without any heat, pushing the hat up again.

"But we need to make sure you keep warm," Dean said, pulling it back over Sam's face.

"Stop." Sam batted at his hands and chuckled. Dean held his breath, the chuckle grew into a soft laugh. Dean couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. Sam was laughing, actually laughing. Sam pushed the hat up and met Dean's eyes, tears sparkled in Sam's. "Hurts to laugh."

"Sorry," Dean said.

"No, Dean, it's okay. Hurts to cry too, this is much better." Sam smiled at him and held out a hand so Dean could help him up and into the wheelchair. "Let's go see this park."

Dean pulled the car into the handicapped parking ten minutes later. Sam looked over at him with a frown. Dean grinned and hooked a parking permit over the rearview mirror. "You didn't think I'd park illegally, did you, Sammy?" He flipped the switch for the trunk and got out. The wheelchair slid out easily. _Of course, I practiced for how long to make that work? _He rolled it around and was pleased to see Sam had the passenger door open. Dean helped his brother into the chair and set off down the paved path. "There's a lake out there, the path goes all the way around it. From where I parked it's one mile."

"One mile?"

"Exactly. Look, turtles!" Dean stopped and pointed at the turtles sunning themselves on a log.

"_Dean, look turtles!" his seven-year-old brother said breathlessly._

"_Where?" Dean asked, leading the way down to a small pond._

"_Over there. Be quiet, they might hear us." Sammy stopped and squatted down on the ground, waiting for Dean to do the same. They sat and watched the turtles until their father came to get them at dusk. "That was awesome!" Sammy declared, taking one last look over his shoulder at the now empty log. _

"Remember that day we watched them? We were in Montana, weren't we?" Sam asked, breaking into Dean's thoughts.

"I was just thinking about that. Yeah, Montana, out by Hamilton, I think." Dean got the chair rolling again.

"It's nice out here, Dean," Sam said after several minutes of silence. "I forgot what it was like."

"What?"

"Being outside, away from the hospital." Sam's voice was so full of despair, Dean dropped a hand on his shoulder. "I didn't know if I'd ever get to leave."

"You're out now."

"Yeah."

"This must be the rough end of the lake." Dean pointed through a break in the willows along the shore.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked listlessly.

"Coots, Sammy, look at them."

"What is it with you and coots?" Sam's voice had lost some of the edge of sadness.

"They're all black with white beaks and weird green feet. What's not to like?" Dean spotted a bench a little way ahead of them. "Let's stop for a minute."

"Okay."

Dean pushed the chair to the bright green bench. He locked the wheels and lifted Sam onto his feet. Dean put his arm around Sam's waist and let his brother lean on him. "Put your hand on my shoulder, Sam." Dean waited until Sam obeyed and took half a step away from the chair. He carefully moved his arm away from Sam's waist, letting his brother stand on his own. They stood that way for a minute before he could feel Sam's hand trembling on his shoulder. Dean slipped his arm back around Sam's waist and helped him down onto the bench. "Good job, Sammy," he said, patting Sam on the back.

"I can barely stand, Dean," Sam said bitterly. "That was what? Forty-five seconds?"

"Yeah, it was." Dean dropped onto the bench beside Sam. "At least that, it might have been a minute, or maybe even more."

"Since when did you become Pollyanna?"

"Sam, not too long ago they told me you'd never be able to sit up, let alone stand. Never." Dean ground his teeth together, remembering that discussion. He sighed. "So you standing on your own for forty-five seconds? It sounds pretty damn good to me."

"You think?"

"Oh hell yeah." Dean watched the ducks milling around on the lake. "You want to go out to dinner tonight?"

"Dinner? No."

"Good." Dean suppressed the sigh and tried for a smile.

"Good?"

"Yeah. I got this recipe for roast chicken the other day and I thought I'd try it."

"Roast chicken?" Sam was looking at him with the strangest expression in his eyes.

"Yeah. I thought you might like it."

"You thought…?" Sam's eyes were suddenly full of tears. Dean moved closer so Sam could lean against him.

"It's okay, Sam," he said.

"No, it's not." Sam shook his head.

"Sam…"

"Maybe I can stand for a few seconds, Dean, but that's all. I can barely feed myself. Then there's the infection."

"You can stand. You can feed yourself. That's a good start."

"No."

"Yeah, it is. Sam, a little while ago they told me…" Dean stopped.

"What?" Sam was looking at him. "Dean?"

"They told me you were dead, Sam." He couldn't stop the tears forming in his eyes. "Or damn near, they said…" He did stop that time. Sam didn't need to know the rest of it, not yet.

"I didn't know," Sam said quietly. Dean wasn't sure what else he heard in his brother's voice.

"So, now you know why I'll take a little standing around as a good thing." Dean pushed himself up, suddenly needing to move, to do something before it all caught up with him and he broke down in front of Sam. "Let's get out of here before those ducks attack." He helped Sam back into the chair and they set out towards the car.

By the time they got back, Sam was almost asleep. Dean lifted him into the car and fastened his seatbelt before putting the chair in the trunk. When he opened the driver's side door, he was greeted by a snore. Dean slid behind the wheel and drove back to the apartment without turning the stereo on. Sam was groggy when they arrived. Dean got him in and settled in the recliner with only one small hitch. He took Sam's coat and hat off and tucked a blanket around his brother.

Dean walked into kitchen and started getting out the ingredients for dinner. _I hope Sammy likes this. _He paused and looked at Sam sleeping in the chair. His brother shifted a little and Dean waited to make sure he wasn't in the middle of a nightmare before returning to the food. He pulled out the recipe he'd gotten off the food channel he'd been listening to while fixing the bathroom. It had sounded easy, and he wanted something special for Sam's first meal at home.

He laid everything out on the counter and looked at the recipe. _Okay, it looked pretty easy. _He sliced the lemon and stuffed the pieces and several springs of fresh thyme into the chicken. Once that was done, he picked up the cotton string and looked at the bird. The guy on TV had made tying it up look pretty easy. _And I'm good at tying things. _The chicken proved to be a problem. Dean was at the point of tossing it out the window—without opening it first—when he finally managed. _Why was that hard? _Wrapping it with bacon was a lot easier than typing it up, Dean put the chicken and potatoes he'd quarters and rubbed with butter into the oven only half an hour later than he'd planned.

Dean walked into the living room to check on Sam, his brother was still asleep. He watched Sam's labored breathing for a moment, wondering if he should get the oxygen from the bed room. A soft tap on the door interrupted his musings. He walked to the door and opened it. Alan was standing on the porch, a small cake in his hands.

"You're here early," Dean said, taking the cake and leading the way into the kitchen. "Sam's asleep."

"How's he doing?" the doctor asked, leaning against the counter and looking a Dean.

"Okay, I took him to the park this afternoon."

"Fresh air is good."

"Yeah, he seemed to cheer up a little. Alan…"

"It's the right decision, Dean. You know it, I know it, screw the idiot. Sam is better off at home. Staying there was only making the depression worse. I was afraid we'd lose him if he stayed much longer."

"Lose him? How?" Dean asked, his heart slamming against his ribs as panic blossomed in his chest.

"Sometimes patients just give up and die. I've even seen it happen with patient's who were improving physically. Sam's given up, or is very close to it. Being here will help."

"He had a nightmare this afternoon."

"Did he tell you about it?" Alan asked with a little frown.

"No. Just that it was about that night. Has he told you? Anything?"

"Yes, a little. The two of you need to talk about it, Dean." Alan sighed. "That would help, too."

"I know." Dean paused. "Speaking of nightmares, is there something you can give me that will let me sleep, but keep me from dreaming? It can't put me out too deep, I need to be able to hear Sam."

"Dean?" The doctor put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "What is it?"

"I only sleep a couple of hours a night, Alan."

"Nightmares?"

"Only one, the same one, over and over." Dean sighed, heard despair in the sound. "I wake up screaming half the time. Actually screaming. I can't do that with Sam here."

"And you need to sleep," Alan said gently.

"I've managed most of my life on less than six hours a night," Dean said.

"You need more than that to help cope with taking care of Sam. It takes a lot of energy."

"Yeah, I know, been taking care of him his whole life."

"This is different," Alan chided softly.

"Yeah, I know." Dean swallowed.

"I did bring something," the doctor said, pulling a bottle out of his pocket. "I can't stop REM sleep, well I can, but it wouldn't help here. But these will help you get back to sleep after."

"Thanks." Dean took the bottle and slipped it into his pocket. "Don't tell Sam."

"I won't, but you need to, Dean. You need to talk about this as much as Sam. And not to me."

"I know." Dean sighed again and rubbed the back of his neck. "Want to stay for dinner?"

"I was hoping you'd ask. I did bring a cake." Alan grinned.

"Dean?" Sam called softly.

"Coming, Sam." Dean walked into the living room, Alan followed him. "Alan's here."

"Hey," Sam said. "What smells good?"

"Dinner. It should be done in just a few minutes."

"You cooked?" Sam was blinking tears away. _Damn, not so soon. _

"I've cooked before." Dean grinned.

"Yeah."

"How are you feeling?" Alan asked.

"Okay."

"Good." The doctor picked up Sam's wrist and took his pulse. Dean watched as Alan ran through the tests. _He's still not doing good. _Dean went to check on the chicken when he couldn't watch the desperate grief on Sam's face anymore.

Dinner was remarkably stress-free. Dean had been worried, Sam's mood had gone downhill since he woke up, he'd heard Sam's bitter voice as he spoke with Alan while Dean set the table. Sam was silent for the first part of the meal, just staring at the plate. Finally Dean goaded him into taking a bite, Sam chewed carefully and took another. Dean almost sagged in relief. Alan looked over at him with a smile. By the end of the meal, Sam had eaten half a piece of chicken and a potato and even managed to get a small piece of cake down. Sam's eyes were starting to droop as they finished.

"Time for bed, Sammy," Dean said, standing up.

"Kay, Dean," Sam said, sounding like he had when he was a child. Dean rolled Sam into the bedroom and carefully lifted him into bed. "PJs?" Sam mumbled.

"You're in sweats, Sammy. They'll do."

"Oh, okay." Sam shifted a little in the bed. "This is nice. A lot nicer than the one at the hospital, my toes don't touch."

"I told you, I got the extra, extra long bed." Dean pulled the blankets over Sam and tucked them over his shoulders. He got the oxygen going and patted Sam on the chest. "How's that?"

"Good."

"Excuse me?" Alan said from the door. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," Dean said.

"I brought some of the good stuff, Sam." Alan stopped beside the bed.

"Thanks," Sam said quietly, looking at Dean.

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean watched Alan give his brother the drug. Sam sighed and relaxed a little more under Dean's hand. He waited until Sam was asleep before gesturing the doctor out of the room.

"It should let him sleep all night, even if you wake up." Alan smiled. "I don't plan on making a habit of it, but you need to sleep and he needs to rest."

"Is he getting better, Alan?" Dean asked, terrified of the answer. The doctor paused for a long time, a worried frown on his face, and didn't answer. "Yeah, I thought so." Dean sighed.

"Being home will help." Alan walked to the door, Dean opened it. "Don't forget the meds in the morning."

"I won't. I'll hook him up and we'll watch 'Scooby Doo'. After that I'm taking him out for another walk."

"What about your job?"

"Nate gave me a few days off to get Sam settled. I start back up on Tuesday. I have an office set aside for Sam, a bed, computer, TV. Nate helped."

"That's good, that might help too, getting out, seeing people other than medical staff."

"Yeah. Thanks, again Alan. I'll call you in the morning and let you know how the night went."

"I'm in at seven."

"I know. Thanks." Dean watched the doctor walk down the path, then closed the door. He wandered around the apartment for awhile. He put the dishes in the dishwasher, checked on Sam, stood in the garden for a minute, checked on Sam, put the laundry in the dryer, checked on Sam, watched TV, checked on Sam. At ten he settled on his bed to watch 'Family Guy' by the first commercial break he was sound asleep.

_The bar was smoky, crowded. There were no open tables. Sam found a place in one corner by the dart board. Dean left him guarding the board and walked to the bar to get them both a beer. Time stopped for an instant, then he was running towards the corner. "SAM! SAM! No, god, no, no, no, please. Sammy." _

"SAMMY!" Dean shot upright in bed, his heart pounding, his hands shaking, covered in icy sweat.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was sleepy. "Something wrong?" From the tone, Dean suspected his brother wasn't even really awake. Dean got out of bed and pulled the covers over Sam.

"You messed up your blankets."

"Oh, okay, sorry." Sam mumbled and was snoring before Dean could move away.

Dean walked into the bathroom and grabbed the pills Alan had given him. He fumbled with the lid, his hands shaking. _I hope these work. _He laid back down on his bed and tried to not think of that night, the night that Sam… He stopped the thought. _Please let him get better. _He didn't know who he was even addressing the plea to, he just offered it up to whoever might be listening. His hands were still shaking as he dropped off to sleep.

_**To Be Continued**_


	4. Yellow Walls

_A/N: I am so sorry I'm so far behind in posting! I keep myself to a pretty tight schedule and once something happens it all can snowball pretty quickly. I had a little bout of food poisoning then "that which gets me stuck on bed rest" raised it's ugly head again. I am trying to be good so I maintain computer privileges, but I am not maintaining my usual number of words. I will get caught up, on my stories and my review replies! Let me say thank you so much for all your reviews and I will get the personal thanks to you as soon as possible!_

**Gifts**

**Chapter Four**

Sam woke slowly, waiting for the sound of the night nurse, or the soft whisper of Mr. Soronson's TV, what he heard instead was a snore. Sam held his breath and listened, the snore came again. He sighed, that had been the first noise to register after the time of silence and pain, the time after that night. That soft snore had been the sound that let him know he was still alive. The snore had been there most of his life, and while some people might not consider it comforting, Sam found it so, he always had. Without opening his eyes, he turned his head to where Dean was snoring in the other bed and let that sound lull him back to sleep.

The next time he woke was to the smell of coffee. He could hear Dean singing in the kitchen, it sounded like a metal rendition of an old folk song. Sam tried to concentrate, but his brain refused to match music and lyrics to anything his mind could dredge up. He sighed and looked around the bedroom. Sunlight was slanting in through yellow and blue plaid curtains. He let his eyes move from the curtains to the walls painted a soft yellow. Sam heard the catch in his breath, he tried to get control of himself before Dean came to check on him.

_It had been the summer before he left for Stanford. They were staying at a cabin Bobby used from time to time while hunting in the north woods. Their father and Bobby had gone off in search of a skinwalker that was terrorizing the area, they'd left Sam and Dean to do a little research, but Sam suspected his father was mostly tired of arguing._

_Dean had decided it was his mission in life to get Sam a little drunk every night and they were well into their night's entertainment. Sam was watching the stars through the trees, Dean was sprawled on a broken couch. _

"_When I get to college I'm painting my room yellow," Sam announced sometime after the fourth beer. _

"_Yellow? That's a little girly, even for you, Sammy."_

"_Do you remember that house we stayed at the summer when I was six?"_

"_You were recovering from pneumonia and dad left us with that ancient aunt of Pastor Jim's."_

"_Yeah, the big house—our room was yellow, and the kids down the block, their house had a yellow kitchen."_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Well, somewhere along the way I became convinced that homes have yellow walls. Motels never do, never once in all the motels, hotels, lodges and inns we've stayed in, never once did any of them have yellow walls."_

"_So, home has yellow walls?" Dean asked dubiously._

"_Yeah," Sam said, taking a drink. "Yellow walls with blue and yellow plaid curtains."_

"_Sammy, your idea of home sounds a little like my idea of hell."_

"_That's hell?" Sam raised his eyebrows._

"_Ok, maybe not hell, but…" Dean chuckled. "Only you would think of yellow walls as home." He shook his head and handed Sam another beer. _

Sam brushed the tears off his face with a shaking hand. _I need to get control before Dean comes in. _He knew his ongoing depression was worrying his brother. It worried him too, and try as he might, he didn't seem to be able to get out from under it. _"Depression is normal after something like this," Alan had said. _In fact he said it every day, that didn't change anything, and some days ending it all seemed like the best option. Sam hadn't really tried, hadn't really done anything except acknowledge that thought was always there. He wondered if Dean knew.

"Sam?" Dean asked from the door.

"Hey," Sam said, trying to smile.

"You ready for a shower? After that I thought I'd hook you up and you could have your meds while we have breakfast. I found a pancake recipe I'm dying to try."

"You found a what?"

"A pancake recipe," Dean said, coming into the room. He turned the flow off to the oxygen and took the tube from Sam's face.

"Dean? A pancake recipe?" Sam's eyebrows were climbing into his bangs despite his earlier mood.

"Yeah." Dean smiled.

"_Christo,"_" Sam said with a grin. His brother looked at him, frowned then started to laugh. "I just had to make sure you're Dean."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, it's pancakes with bits of bacon and sausage in them."

"Right." Sam took a deep breath. "Can I skip the shower?" What had once been one of the most anticipated times of the day—a hot shower after a hunt, in the morning before they got going or after a long day with Dean in the car—now was something he dreaded. Loss of dignity was part of the routine now, but showering with his brother seemed a little too much at that moment.

"Oh, hell no, Sammy, you stink. I am so not going anywhere with you." Dean was getting clean clothes out of the chest of drawers. He carried them into the bathroom, then came back. "Ready?"

"Dean, I'd really rather…"

"On three," Dean said like Sam hadn't spoken. "One... Two…" Dean lifted him up and carried him into the bathroom. He opened the shower door with one hand and helped Sam in, setting him carefully on a plastic stool sitting against the wall of the shower stall. "This thing has wheels, the lock is this red button. Your clothes are in that little plastic shelf thing, they'll stay dry in there, I tried it out a couple of times. If you need me, shout."

"Dean? What?" Sam asked.

"What what? If you need me shout, I have the heater cranked, so even with the door open it shouldn't get too cold in here."

"You're…" Sam swallowed. "You're going to leave me in here? Alone?"

"Well, if you want, I can sit in here if you're worried about falling."

"No, I mean, I can take a shower?"

"Yep, that's why we're here." Dean grinned.

"I mean by myself?" The tears were starting to get the better of him again.

"Yeah." Dean smirked at him. "What else?" The way he said it, Sam suddenly understood that Dean knew… Knew what this meant. Sam tried smiling back. "Don't scald yourself, the water get pretty hot. Oh, and the showerhead sticks sometimes." Dean fiddled with it, showed Sam how to take it off the pole it was mounted on, patted Sam on the back and left. "Toss your dirty clothes by the shower door, if they get wet, I'll just dump them in the machine. Holler when you're done."

Forty-five minutes later Sam shouted for Dean, his brother appeared so quickly, Sam suspected Dean had been lurking in the bedroom "just in case." Dean had made a point of checking in every five minutes or so throughout the entire shower, but he'd never once opened the door. Sometimes, Dean still surprised him.

"What is it, Sammy?" Dean sounded a little panicked.

"I'm finished."

"Oh!" Dean opened the door and smiled. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah."

"Let me grab the chair. I have everything set up at the table. We'll get the meds going and I'll make pancakes, the batter's all ready." While Dean was talking he rolled the wheelchair into the shower, lifted Sam into it and pushed him to the small table in the kitchen.

"You are seriously making pancakes?" Sam smiled as Dean nodded, grabbed the IV bag off the table, prepped the line in his arm and hooked him up with the efficiency of a skilled nurse. Dean hung the bag from a nail on the wall and walked to the stove.

"While I was fixing the place up I listened to a lot of cooking shows." Dean put a heavy skillet on the stove.

"You did what? Should I say _Christo _again?"

"No. It was just background noise, I didn't get sucked into the show, but it was company, you know?"

"Yeah," Sam said softly, hearing the emotion in Dean's voice.

"But I got lots of good ideas. You'll be amazed."

"Or I'll die from food experimentation."

"Very funny, Sammy." Dean turned to him with a smile. "Be nice or no Dean Special for you."

"Right, should I be happy or sad about that?" Sam teased.

"Bite me, Sammy." Dean chucked and served the first stack of pancakes. He sat down and kept up the banter. By the time the IV was finished, Sam was surprised to discover he'd eaten almost his whole stack of pancakes. Dean was grinning like an idiot. "Good job, want to take a walk? I'll get you a latte on the way."

"Dean…"

"Okay, want to take a walk? Or want to be hooked up behind the car and towed?" Dean asked, bringing Sam his coat and hat.

"Towed."

"You got it, bitch, but when the chair rolls over and your knees get skinned, don't come crying to me."

"Fine, jerk, I won't." Sam smiled and Dean pulled Sam's hat down over his eyes.

The sun had broken through the clouds when they arrived at the lake. The wind was blowing when Dean opened the car door, the chill cut into Sam. "Dean, it's cold."

"Yep, and I'm ready for it. I have mittens, and a blanket." Dean helped Sam into the wheelchair, tucked a blanket over his lap and dangled the mittens—pink with a fluffy white ball on the back—in front of his face.

"Those won't fit."

"Oh, yes they will. I found them at the thrift shop when I was looking for... Never mind. Anyway I found them there—they're big on me, so I thought they'd fit you just fine." He held the mittens out with a grin and waited until Sam pulled them on.

"Tomorrow you get different ones," Sam grumbled as Dean laughed.

"Sure." Dean dropped a sack on Sam's lap. "You keep an eye on this."

"What is it?" Sam asked opening the bag.

"Old muffins from Pooh, to feed the ducks. I didn't like the way they were eyeing you yesterday, Sammy."

Dean got the chair rolling and kept up the chatter. Sam was surprised, his brother rarely talked just for noise, but it certainly seemed that way as they moved around the lake. Dean stopped once or twice to point out something in the trees, or along the shore. The further they got from the car, the more Sam's head drooped. The gentle rocking motion of the wheelchair and the comforting drone of his brother's voice combined to lull him into a light doze. Sam slept a lot, partially because of the recovery, and partially because of the depression, or so Alan said.

_The bar was crowded, and still a place that allowed smoking. Blue smoke surrounded him as he walked in. Dean smiled and gestured towards the back where a dartboard hung on the wall. Sam nodded and headed that way while Dean walked to the bar. As Sam pushed through the people, he saw them as monsters, some easy to spot, some not, but for some reason they didn't bother him, it was his world and he was comfortable there. He reached the table by the dartboard and sensed someone behind him, he turned. She was pretty and human. She smiled…She held her hand out to him, he was falling._

"_NO!" Dean's scream filled the bar. "Sammy! Sam!"_

"Sammy? Sam?" The anxious voice carried over from his dream, no longer screaming, just worried. Dean was crouching in front of the chair, his hand on Sam's knee. "Hey," Dean said as Sam opened his eyes.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled, then looked around. They were stopped at the bench where he'd stood briefly the day before.

Dean frowned at him, his eyes searching Sam's face. "Let's see if you can stand a little longer today, Sammy."

"I don't know, Dean."

"Just three seconds longer. That's all. It was thirty-three seconds yesterday, let's make it to thirty-six today." Dean smiled and took the blanket off his lap. "Here we go, Sam, use my shoulder for balance once you're up. No cheating."

"Dean, I don't…"

"I know you don't. But this is therapy, Sam, and you have to." Dean lifted Sam onto his feet before Sam could raise another protest. Pain shot through his body, starting in his feet and running up his spine in a fiery explosion. His legs were trembling madly when Dean gently guided his hand onto his shoulder. When his brother pulled his arm away from his waist, it took everything Sam had to stay upright. He stood there, focused on not falling, wondering how Dean knew exactly how long he'd stood the day before.

Then he heard it, a nearly silent whisper.

"Thirty-one, thirty-two…" Dean was counting it off. Sam held his breath and clenched his teeth. "Thirty-five, thirty-six…" Sam held on, more of his weight shifted onto Dean's shoulder. "Forty, forty-one…" Sam's legs gave way, Dean caught him and guided him to the bench. Sam sagged against it in relief as Dean covered him with the blanket. "Good job, Sammy." Sam looked up, tears were sparkling in his brother's eyes—unshed but there. "Good job." He patted Sam's shoulder and dropped to the bench beside him. They sat in silence watching the ducks mill in the lake for several minutes, Sam catching his breath, Dean staring at the ducks.

"What?" Sam asked when he realized his brother's gaze had shifted onto him.

"The nightmare, tell me about it," Dean said quietly.

"It's just that night, Dean. No different than what woke you up screaming last night. Yeah, I heard you." Sam looked away, he didn't want to talk about it, and he did. Part of him hoped the pain would go away if they talked, but what if it didn't? Then what?

"Yeah, sorry about that. Sammy?" Dean paused. "Alan's right. We need to talk about this."

"No."

"Tell me, Sammy, please. Tell me about that night."

"I don't remember much, Dean," Sam said softly, looking at his hands.

"Tell me what you remember." Dean's voice was low, anxious.

"Okay," Sam said, suddenly needing to talk about it with Dean. "Will you tell me what happened to you? And after? When I'm done?"

Dean sighed and scrubbed his hands across his face. "Okay, Sam."

"Promise, Dean?" _A promise is never broken. _

"Promise, Sammy," Dean said gently, his eyes dark.

Sam took a breath, trying to remember that night…

**Some Weeks Earlier**

The miles were rolling by, Sam was watching the scenery. Late summer touched the landscape in shades of brown and green. He sighed in relief when Dean ejected the Pantera tape that had been blasting for the last hundred miles or so. On the eighth or ninth repeat, Sam begged him to put something else in. Anything else. He was starting to go into shock. Dean chuckled, let the tape play one more time, then changed it out. Led Zeppelin. Sam sighed.

"I'm beat," Dean said about an hour later. "Let's stop."

Sam looked over in surprise. "Stop? It's still pretty early, Dean."

"Yeah, I know, but by the time we get to the next town, it's going to be around seven. That's late enough to stop. We'll get a room and grab a bite and you can tell me more about that… that…"

"The mummy?"

"That gets funnier every time I hear it." Dean chuckled. "Yeah, the mummy that we drove almost a thousand miles to check into. The mummy that will undoubtedly turn out to be something that's not even the least bit supernatural."

"Probably not, but three deaths in a university museum that recently acquired a mummy? It could be something." Sam sighed. _Just how many times have we gone over this? _The reports had reached them the week before, they finished up with a simple salt and burn and headed west towards the university and the mummy. They were still a day out and the closer they got, the more snarky Dean got about it. _One more mummy joke and I'm killing him. _

They pulled into a medium-sized town about the time Sam was contemplating tossing Dean out the car. "Stairway to Heaven's" lyrics had been rewritten as "there's a mummy who knows all the people he kills, are just waiting to get torched by me" and had gone downhill from there.

They checked into a small hotel and asked for directions to someplace for dinner. The clerk was helpful and said there was a small pub just up the street. It was popular, had good bar food and according to her "the best classic rock in town." Dean was persuaded instantly, Sam tried to talk his brother into finding something with some semblance of salad, but Dean now had his heart set on burgers and classic rock. The lot was packed when they pulled in, Dean parking next to a 1963 Impala. He got out and walked around the car, peeking in at the interior, mumbling under his breath the whole time.

"Dean?" Sam watched his brother make a third circuit of the car. "Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"If you're through with the car orgasm, can we eat?"

"What?" Dean blinked at him. Sam laughed. _The only thing that can keep him from eating is a woman or a car, and I'm not sure in that order. _

"Food?"

"Oh, yeah, right. You get a table and I'll grab us some beer and a menu."

"Okay."

Sam followed his brother into the bar. It was crowded, smoke eddied around the door. Dean made a face, then pointed to the back. There was an empty table by the dartboard, and the fan was in that corner, so the smoke was considerably less dense there. Sam headed towards the table, Dean to the bar. Sam pushed through the crowd, it was a mixed group. College age kids mixed with older couples and a few singles here and there, for all it was a bar, it had a "family" feeling to it. Most of the people smiled as Sam moved past them. He reached the table in the back and took off his coat, hanging it over one of the chairs. The dartboard was unoccupied, so he grabbed the cup of darts so they could play while they waited for their food.

He'd taken a practice toss at the board when he sensed someone behind him. Sam turned, a pretty woman, in her late thirties or early forties stood looking at him. Sam smiled and glanced towards the bar where Dean was waiting, Dean caught his look and grinned with a lewd waggle of his eyebrows. Sam had started turning back towards the woman when the first impact hit him. He looked at her, not understanding what happened when he was hit again, sound filled the bar, but it was as if he were encased in glass, there was no sound, no feeling, just the impacts on his body.

"NO! NO!" Dean's scream cut through all the other sounds in the bar.

He was falling, still not sure what was happening.

"Sammy?" Dean's hands were pressing on his body. "Someone call 911! Please call 911! Sammy?"

"Dean?" Sam blinked. "Happened?"

"Hang on, Sam, okay?" Dean's face was streaked with tears. "Sammy, stay with me."

"Rescue's on the way," a disembodied voice said.

"Thanks. Sammy, stay with me. Can you hear me?"

Sam tried to nod, his body refused to respond, the first wisps of pain were creeping in. He could feel Dean's hands, but everything else was fading. "Dean?"

"Stay with me, Sam, please." Tears dripped off Dean's face and landed on Sam. The world faded a little more. "I hear the sirens, only a little longer, Stay with me. Sam? Sammy, please." Sam's eyes closed. He felt Dean's hands on his throat, part of his brain told him Dean was looking for a pulse. _I wonder if he'll find one? _Sam took a shallow breath, it sighed out of him. He couldn't draw another. The last sensation was Dean's hands wrenching his head back, and the world was gone.

**Present**

The ducks had gathered at their feet muttering in irritation. Sam realized he was leaning against Dean, his arm over Sam's shoulders. Sam risked a glance at Dean—his brother's face had tears on it, he knew there were answering tears on his own.

"I should have died," he said softly.

"You didn't." Dean's voice was harsh.

"Maybe I should have, Dean."

"Don't you say that, Sam. Don't you ever say that." Dean's anger vibrated through his chest.

"I still might."

"Sammy. No. Don't."

"What?" Sam raised his head and looked at Dean. "The infection is still there, Dean. My body…I have at least one more surgery… It's still a possibility."

"No it's not. No."

"You think you can make that true just by saying it?"

Dean met his eyes. "Yeah, Sammy, I know I can."

_**To Be Continued **_

_A/N II: I would like to take a chance to say my book. __**The Legacy, Book One of the Custodes Noctis,**__ is now available on Amazon(dot) com and Target (dot) com. I would like to take this opportunity to thank you all for all your support and love which has kept me writing through a very rough year, and I so happy I can share Galen and Rob with you! I've written a crossover fic of sorts to introduce you (The Apothecary) or you can check out the first chapters at my website!_


	5. Macaroni and Cheese

_A/N: Thanks to TraSan for her help. Thank you everyone for your reviews! I am trying to catch up and I'll get to everyone soon! Promise!_

**Gifts**

**Chapter Five**

**Macaroni and Cheese**

The ducks gathered around their feet while Sam had been speaking. Dean watched them while he tried to calm the anger and despair bubbling in his chest. His brother's quiet admission that he should have died, that he still might, was almost more than Dean could bear. Alan's worry that Sam had given up crept to the forefront as the ducks muttered under their breath. Sam was still crying softly, his head resting against Dean's shoulder.

"Maybe we should do something about that," Dean said.

"What?" Sam mumbled.

"The ducks, I'm worried that they might be after us." Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder and got up, retrieving the day-old muffins from the wheelchair. He handed them to Sam and dropped back down beside his brother. Sam methodically tore apart the pastries and tossed them to the ducks, when several coots joined in, Sam actually had a smile on his face. By the time the muffins were gone, Sam was shivering. "Time to head back, Sammy. Want to stop for lunch on the way home?"

"No," Sam said firmly.

"Okay," Dean said, trying to quell his disappointment. "We can have left over chicken and bacon sandwiches for lunch." He helped Sam over to the chair and covered him with the blanket. Sam was asleep when they got back to the car. Dean gently shook his shoulder. "Come on, Sammy, just wake up long enough for me to get you in the car."

"Kay, Dean," Sam said sleepily, sounding like he had when he was a child. Dean smiled and lifted his brother into the car. Sam settled into the seat with a sigh and was back asleep before Dean got in. When they got home, Dean left Sam in the car long enough to open the door and turn the heater on in Sam's recliner.

"Up and at 'em, Sam," Dean said, opening the car door.

"Where are we?"

"Home."

"Already?" Sam opened his eyes and looked at Dean. "You drove fast."

"No, you slept the whole way," Dean said, smiling at Sam as he helped him into the wheelchair. "We'll have some food and then you can rest for awhile." He pushed Sam into the house.

"I'm not hungry," Sam said as Dean helped him into the recliner and tucked the blanket around him.

"Half a sandwich, Sam, that's all. You can eat it here, I'll join you." Dean patted Sam's chest and headed into the kitchen. He got out the expensive bread he thought Sam would like and made them both sandwiches from the left over chicken and bacon. Dean grabbed a coke out of the fridge, poured it into two glasses and carried it all into the living room. He set the food down on the tray beside Sam's chair and sat down.

"Dean?" Sam looked from the sandwich to him and back.

"Yeah?"

"You know this bread has seeds and stuff in it?" Sam reached a shaking hand to pick up his plate, Dean watched the slow progress from tray to Sam's lap with trepidation.

"I know, I tried a sample in the store and liked it. It's supposedly high protein, too," Dean said, picking up his sandwich.

"It's better than the stuff I got in the hospital," Sam said. Dean looked over, tears had gathered in his brother's eyes.

"Sammy?"

"I…" Sam shook his head. "What about therapy?"

"We'll get you started on a little more tomorrow, I talked to Alan and he said a day or two off would be okay, while you got used to being home."

"Thanks."

"Although maybe later, if you're up to it, we could go hit the hot tub for awhile." Dean grinned. "It's pretty nice and no one uses it."

"Maybe," Sam said quietly. He took another bite of sandwich and set it down.

"A little more, Sam."

"I'm not hungry."

"One more bite, that way your pain pill won't make you barf, and if you barf in here, Sammy, I don't care how you manage it—you are so cleaning it up yourself."

"Fine." Sam picked up the sandwich again and made a show of eating another bite. "There, Dean, can I have dessert now?"

"Cute, Sammy, very cute," Dean said, grinning. Any attempt a humor was welcome. He got Sam his pill and sat back down. Dean waited until Sam had taken it before finishing his own lunch. "Want to watch a little TV? We have a thousand channels, I think."

"A thousand?" Sam said sleepily.

"Okay, maybe not a thousand, but I found one I think you'll like." Dean flipped on the TV. "They were showing a marathon of 'The Worse Jobs in History' with that guy from 'Blackadder'. It's supposed to be on today, too, you'll like it."

"Okay." Sam shifted in the chair, Dean pulled the blanket up a little further and carried his brother's plate into the kitchen. When he got back in the living room, Sam was asleep.

Dean looked at his brother, the deep lines of pain were still etched on Sam's face, along with the sadness that never seemed to leave him, even in sleep. _Come on, Sammy, please. _He shook himself and walked into the bathroom, gathered up the towels and Sam's clothes, and put a load in the washer. After checking on Sam, he stepped into the garden and closed the door. He could see Sam from there, but he wouldn't wake him. Dean pulled out his phone and called Alan.

"How's Sam?" the doctor said by way of a greeting.

"He slept most of the night, I woke him up when I had a nightmare, but he went right back to sleep."

"Good, how's his mood?"

"He's up and down," Dean admitted. "I was hoping being home would make a difference."

"I'm sure it will, it's really only been a day, you know," Alan said gently. "Have you had a chance to talk?"

"Sam talked about that night." Dean paused. "Did you know he didn't realize what had happened to him?"

"It's a reoccurring theme in his nightmares. Have you talked to him?"

"Alan…"

"Dean, you need to talk to him as much as he needed to talk to you. Tell him what happened."

"He asked me to tell him about that night and after."

"What did you say?"

"I promised I would," Dean said.

"Good." Alan paused. "I'll leave you two alone tonight, but plan on dinner tomorrow, okay?"

"Thanks." Dean broke the connection with a sigh. _Telling Sammy isn't going to be easy. _He slid the door open and checked on his brother before heading into the kitchen. Among the many things Alan was worried about was Sam's appetite. He'd told Dean Sam was eating less as he recovered rather than more. The doctor was concerned, Dean was almost at the point of panic. Sam not eating was like Sam not wanting to research or read. _Of course, he doesn't want to do that either. _

Dean decided he would attempt to make some of Sam's favorite dishes. He never really thought of himself as a good cook, they'd lived too long in motels for him to really develop a lot of ability, but he was determined to get his brother eating again. Tonight he was going to try Grandma Opal's macaroni and cheese.

_"Dean? What's she doing?" his eight-year-old brother asked as they sat in Grandma Opal's bright farm kitchen. _

_"I don't know, Sammy," he replied, watching her boil noodles and mix something in a sauce pan._

_"I'm making macaroni and cheese, Sammy," she said, turning to them with a smile._

_"But where's the box?" Sam asked._

_"Box?" she looked from one to the other with a frown. "What box?"_

_"Macaroni and cheese comes in a box," Sam said._

_"Mine doesn't," Grandma Opal said, drawing Sam over to the stove. She showed them how she put everything together and they sat and talked while it baked in the oven, Sam checking on it every few minutes. When it was done, Sam declared it the "bestest thing ever." Over the years, Dean noticed his brother ordered it every once in awhile, but always said it just wasn't the same as hers. _

Dean filled a pot with water and set it on the stove to boil. He knew he could do at least that much, the rest might be a little tricky. After getting out all the ingredients, he looked at the recipe he'd gotten from Grandma Opal a week before. _Okay, I face worse than this all the time, what's a little macaroni compared to an angry ghost? I can do this. _He melted the butter in a saucepan and added flour. _Looks clumpy, is that good or bad? _Once he thought it was ready, he started slowly whisking milk into the mixture, waiting for it to thicken before adding more. When the milk was all in, he added half a cup of sour cream and let it cook while the noodles boiled. _It looks right. _He checked the mixture, drained the noodles and added what Grandma Opal had told him was her secret ingredient, a teaspoon of mustard. He thought about deleting that item, but she was insistent. _"Add the mustard right before you mix the cheese in. Trust me, Dean, I've been doing this for fifty years," she gently scolded him. _He added the cheese, mixed it and poured the noodles in before putting it all in the baking dish. _Please let it taste right, please. _He asked whoever might be listening. _Looks pretty damn good. _Dean put the dish on the counter, he'd bake it once Sam was awake.

"No, please, no," Sam's soft cry pulled Dean into the living room. "Dean!"

"Sammy," Dean said, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Come on, Sam, wake up." Sam thrashed, still in the grip of the dream. "Sammy!" Dean shook him, finally, Sam jerked awake with a gasp. "Easy, Sam, it's okay," Dean said soothingly.

"Dean?" Sam blinked.

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean sat on the arm of the chair and put his hand on Sam's chest, his brother's heart was pounding frantically.

"Sorry," Sam said, laying his hand over Dean's.

"The nightmare again?" Dean asked. Sam swallowed and nodded. "Do you need something more?"

"Yeah." Sam took the pill and the cup of flat coke Dean handed him. "Thanks. Will you tell me?"

"What I made for dinner? No, it's a surprise."

"Dean," Sam huffed and rolled his eyes, Dean barely contained the grin he felt forming. It was the first time he'd gotten that reaction out of Sam in a very long time. "No, Dean, about that night." He paused. "You promised."

"I know I did, Sammy." Dean sighed. "Okay…"

**Some Weeks Earlier**

Dean was getting a little tired of driving. They'd been on the road for a couple of days, headed across country to check out a mummy. He chuckled, he did every time he thought about it. When Sam first told him about the job, visions of bad "B" movies started playing in his head and he managed to drive Sam almost insane by walking around the motel room, arms out, chanting "Anck-es-en-Amon" in his best Boris Karloff imitation. Sam had started throwing things. _Still, how often do you get a chance to maybe take on a mummy? _But, it was the end of a long day, they still had a distance to go and he was ready to be off the road, eat a little dinner and crash in front of the TV.

They found a motel and the clerk pointed them in the direction of a local pub that served good food and offered classic rock. Dean knew Sam was getting tired of bar food. _One more night won't kill him. We'll have salad tomorrow. _

When they pulled into the crowded lot, Dean spotted a space next to… _Oh my god, look at that car. _He eased the Impala into the space and got out, walking around the car next to him. _Nineteen sixty-three Impala, mint condition, look at that interior. Not even a scratch on the dash. _He ran a reverent hand along the passenger door. _I wonder what engine? This thing is…_He realized Sam had been speaking to him and looked up with a grin. Sam rolled his eyes, and they headed into the bar.

It was packed. All the tables were full, at least as far as Dean could make out through the smoke. He wrinkled his nose and frowned. At the back of the bar, close to the dartboard, was a single table. Dean nodded towards it, Sam headed through the crowd, and Dean walked to the bar to get them beer and a menu.

The bartender was pretty, with eyes the color of the first girl Dean had been with. _Funny, I remember that. Maybe it's one of those things you always remember, like the first time you drive, the first time you hear a gunshot, the first time you torch a ghost. _He smiled at her and turned to check on Sam. There was a pretty woman standing in front of his brother. Sam looked over at him with a quizzical smile. _Way to go, Sammy. _Dean turned back to the bartender, hoping to get her number.

Bang

Bang

Bang

Bang

Dean turned in time to see Sam fall. The shots had come so quickly they sounded almost like one. "NO! NO!" Dean's screamed as he raced across the room, shoving people out of his way as he went. He dropped to his knees beside his brother. One of Sam's legs was bent under him at an odd angle "Sammy?" His brother was already covered in blood, Dean pressed his hands over one of the wounds. "Someone call 911! Please call 911!" he said desperately, looking up at the crowd standing around them. "Sammy?"

"Dean?" Sam blinked. "Happened?"

"Hang on, Sam, okay?" _Oh god, he's dying, oh god. _Tears burned like acid in his eyes. "Sammy, stay with me."

"Rescue's on the way," a dark-haired man said.

"Thanks." _How long, how long? _ "Sammy, stay with me," he ordered in the voice he used to make his younger brother obey, no matter what. "Can you hear me?" _Oh, god, oh god._

Sam's head moved fractionally, it might have been a nod. "Dean?" he said, the word more a whisper of breath.

"Stay with me, Sam, please." Dean was trying not to sob, but the tears were running down his face and falling on his brother. "I hear the sirens, only a little longer." _Hurry, please, hurry. _"Stay with me. Sam? Sammy, please." Sam's eyes closed. Dean reached desperately for a pulse, his hand was on Sam's throat when his brother's heart stuttered to a stop, a final breath sighing slowly out of Sam. Dean pulled Sam's head back and started CPR, the dark-haired man knelt to help, counting off the beats.

Hands were suddenly pulling Dean away. "We've got him, let us take over," an EMT said.

Dean stumbled back, watching as they worked on Sam. The dark-haired man came and stood beside Dean. What had happened, what was happening, was still working its way into Dean's shocked brain. _Is Sammy dead? _The EMTs had Sam hooked up to what looked like a thousand things, an IV in his arm, tubes everywhere. Dean could barely see through the tears. Someone put an arm over his shoulders. He didn't have the energy to shrug it off. _Sammy, please. _They loaded Sam onto a stretcher and started pushing him through the crowd, Dean followed blindly, watching as they put his brother in the back of an ambulance and closed the doors.

"Is he alive?" he asked as the EMT walked past him.

"For now."

A second later the ambulance was pulling out, leaving Dean standing in the parking lot, listening to the siren, hoping his brother was still alive. He pulled the keys out of his pocket and stumbled towards the Impala.

"No." A hand on Dean's arm stopped him, he turned to the speaker. It was the dark-haired man who'd helped him. "You can't drive."

"Have to get to Sam," Dean said, moving to the car.

"I know, let me," he said, taking the keys from Dean's numb fingers. He guided Dean around the Impala opened the passenger door and pushed Dean in. "Meet us there," he said to a blond woman standing by the car. She nodded. The man got in the driver's side and turned on the car.

"Thanks."

He wasn't sure how long they were on the road, all he knew is scenery went by, then they were pulling into a parking spot at the hospital. The man walked beside him as Dean went into the ER, heading to the triage desk. Somehow Dean's brain managed to respond to the nurse's questions and he signed the paperwork to treat Sam. The nurse seemed to understand he couldn't fill anything else out at that point.

Hours—or maybe seconds—later a man in scrubs spoke to the nurse and she pointed towards Dean. He walked over. "I'm Dr. Huppert, we're taking…"

"Sam," Dean said.

"To surgery."

"How is he?" _If he's going to surgery he's alive, right? _

"He's critical."

"Will he make it?" _Oh god, oh, please. _

"I don't know. My best guess at this point? You should prepare yourself." He smiled the non-feeling smile of the medical profession and walked away.

Dean sank into a chair, all of it suddenly catching up with him. He put his head in his hands—still covered with Sam's blood—and wept.

_**To Be Continued**_


	6. An Evening at Home

_A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing! I am still playing catch up, but I will get to everyone! I wanted to get up a chapter before Christmas, so here it is! Happiest of Holidays everyone! Huge hug._

_A/N II: For those of you who have asked, or are curious about the recipes Dean is using in this story, I have started posting them on my website at muffymorrigan (dot) com, click on Muffy's Cookbook. I will eventually get all the ones from this story up and then, since I realized that a lot of my stories have food in them, start adding some from other stories as well._

**Gifts**

**Chapter Six**

**An Evening at Home**

The buzzer on the dryer broke into Dean's story. He took a breath and looked up, half-surprised he wasn't still sitting in the ER waiting room. Late afternoon sun was coming through the door to the garden, lighting the few fall flowers still blooming. Dean scrubbed the tears off his face.

"Dean?" Sam said in a choked voice. Dean looked over, expecting tears, but his brother's face was dry, his eyes were red, but no tears. Sam was shaking, his face paper-white.

"Sammy?" Dean reached a hand towards his brother, then something in Sam's eyes made him stop. The dryer buzzed again. Dean looked at Sam, wondering what to do, feeling the emotions he'd kept in threatening to spill over. He realized he was trembling. "That's the dryer, I better get the stuff out so I can get the rest of the stuff in today." He stood, walked quickly across the apartment and into the small pantry where the washer and dryer were. He leaned against the warm dryer and tried to fight back the tears. _Losing control won't help Sammy, it won't. _He swallowed the lump threatening to choke him and opened the dryer. He started carefully folding the clothes, aware of the tears running down his face. _This is not control, I need to… _A sound wormed its way into his brain. A soft sob.

Dean looked into the living room, Sam had his head in his hands. His whole body was shaking with the sobs ripping through him. Dean took a step forward and stopped. His brother had waited until Dean was out of the room before he let go. The instinct to protect Sam, to comfort Sam warred with the sudden knowledge that Sam needed a moment to let this out alone. He wondered if Sam had ever really let go in the hospital, he never had around Dean. _I'll have to ask Alan. _Dean finished folding the clothes, grinding his teeth together as the sobs continued. He tossed the towels in the dryer and picked up the clothes. The sobs had quieted. "It's kind of nice not having to put quarters in the machines," he said from inside the little room to let Sam know he was coming back. Dean walked into the living room, trying not to look at his brother. "I'll put dinner in the oven soon as I put these away, Sammy."

After he put the clothes in the dresser, he quickly made the beds, giving Sam more time, giving himself more time. The little peek he'd taken at Sam as he walked past had nearly killed him. His brother looked like he had when he was a child, hurt, needing comfort, but trying to be strong for Dean and John. _Oh, god, Sammy. _Dean took a deep breath and walked into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face and willing the tears away. "That's enough for now," he said to his reflection in the mirror. He dried his face and picked up the box of tissues, there was no way he could pretend he hadn't heard Sam crying and there were no tissues in the living room. _From now on there will be. _

Dean walked back in the living room, Sam had his head in his hands. "Sammy?" Dean said gently. Sam shook his head without looking up. "Okay, kiddo." Dean put the tissues on Sam's lap and squeezed his shoulder. "I'm going to put dinner on." He headed into the kitchen and put the macaroni and cheese into the oven. "I had the oven already preheated," he said, to cover the nearly inaudible, but still present, sobs coming from the living room. "We don't pay utilities, so I thought this way I wouldn't forget. It'll be done in about half an hour, maybe less."

He started pulling dishes out of the cupboard and setting the table. "I was planning on making a Baked Alaska—remember that time we stopped with dad and we wanted to try one, but the cook had just got himself fired? I looked up the recipe, and nope, not trying that yet. I need to make a few more things before I try something like that." He chuckled. "With my skills it would have ended up more a Baked Death Valley or something." Dean turned to get the salad out of the fridge, when he realized the sound coming from the living room had changed. It still sounded a lot like a sob, but there was laughter, too. He looked up. "Sammy?"

"Baked Death Valley?" Sam said with a strangled laugh.

"Yep," Dean said with a grin as he opened the fridge. The chuckles increased, Dean sighed in relief, even though the laughter had an edge of hysteria to it.

"Dean!"

The tone in Sam's voice had Dean moving out of the kitchen before his brain caught up, he glanced at his brother, and raced into the bedroom, unlocking the stash of hardcore painkillers Alan had given him and ran back to Sam. His brother was bent over, gasping for air, Dean could see muscles contracting. He grabbed Sam's arm and gave him the drugs. Sam reached out and Dean pulled his brother against him, Sam's hand's fisted in his shirt and he groaned in pain. "It's okay, Sammy, I've got you," he said gently.

"Hurts, Dean."

"I know, let the drug work, it shouldn't take long." He was rubbing Sam's back in a slow circle, waiting for the tremors to ease.

"Crying, laughing… It all hurts," Sam choked out.

"I'm sorry."

"I hate this, Dean."

"Yeah, Sammy, I know."

"_I hate this, Dean," Sam grumbled from the bed. Dean looked over at his seventeen-year-old brother. _

"_I know, Sammy, but it's only for a couple more days."_

"_It's Sam," he snapped. "And in a couple more days I'm going to be suicidal."_

"_Don't be so dramatic," Dean said with a grin. Sam had been complaining since they'd released him from the hospital. Bed rest and Sam didn't seem to mix well together. Dean had thought Sam would like several days with no interruptions for his books and computer, but he'd been wrong. _

"_I'm not even allowed to get up to go to the bathroom without help," Sam continued the litany of complaints Dean had been listening to all morning._

"_Give it a little time," Dean sighed. _

"_I'm sick of giving it time. I'd rather be hunting than this."_

_Dean got up from the chair and sat on the edge of the bed. "Tell you what, if you just get through this afternoon, I'll take you to that fancy restaurant down the block. I won a little extra the other night and dad's not around."_

_  
"At least he's not hovering, but you are, you're never more than a few feet away, Dean."_

"_Sammy," Dean said, putting a hand on his brother's chest to stop the angry words. "I'm sorry, I'm still a little freaked."_

_Sam met his eyes. "What?"_

"_Dad said we shouldn't tell you, and maybe he's right, I don't know."_

"_Tell me what, Dean?"_

"_How close we came to losing you." Dean looked away, blinking tears out of his eyes. "I thought you were gone, Sam, so if I hover a little, cut me some slack, okay?"_

"_I was that bad?" Sam asked._

"_You were worse than that," Dean said. "Just give it a couple more days."_

"_I just hate having to rely on you for everything, Dean, I feel like a burden."_

"_Never," Dean growled, "never, ever think that, Sam. Never. You are a pain in the ass, but…"_

"_I'm sorry."_

"_Don't be sorry, either. Get better, then you don't have to put up with this anymore. And tonight? Dinner."_

"_And a movie?"_

"_You think this is a date?"_

"_Come on, Dean, there must be something playing, and you know, seeing a movie might help," Sam said with the puppy-eyes that got Dean to do his bidding every time. _

"_See? Pain in the ass."_

The tremors were slowly easing and Sam's breathing was normalizing. Dean was gently rubbing Sam's back and his brother still had his hands fisted in his shirt. "It's okay," Dean said quietly as the memory drifted away.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered.

"For what?" Dean asked angrily.

"For…" Sam stopped. "I got snot on your shirt."

"Yeah, well you should be sorry about that," Dean said, giving Sam a gentle squeeze and pulling away. "I'll get dinner out, change and then we can eat."

"I'm not hungry, really."

"I slave in the kitchen for hours and hours and you say you're not hungry?" Dean said as he got the food out of the oven, walked into the bedroom and changed. "That's too bad, you're eating, I'm not letting all my hard work go to naught."

"All your hard work go to naught?" Sam chuckled. "You sound just like Grandma Opal."

"There's a reason for that, Sammy." Dean grinned. "Want to try getting to the table without the chair?"

"Walk on my own?" Sam looked completely terrified.

"No, I'll do most of the work, I just thought…" _Please, Sammy, please try. _

Sam looked at him for a long moment. "Okay, let's try."

"Ready?" Dean got his hand under Sam's arms. "One, two…" He pulled Sam up, his brother fell against him. Dean put his arm around Sam's waist and lifted Sam's arm over his shoulders. Most of Sam's weight was on him, his brother's feet barely touching the ground. "One step," Dean said quietly. "Just one."

"Dean…"

"Please." Dean let a little weight shift onto Sam, not much. His brother slipped his foot forward an inch or two before his leg folded. Dean caught him and helped him to the table. "You get a reward for that one." He picked up the casserole and put it on the trivet in front of Sam. "Ta da."

"What's that?" Sam asked.

"Macaroni and cheese, Grandma Opal's recipe." He scooped out a piece and put it on the plate in front of Sam.

"Mac…" Sam cleared his throat and blinked.

"Well?" Dean said, fighting the urge to force feed his brother. _Let it taste right. _He knew no other macaroni and cheese had ever lived up to Sam's standards. For some reason he was nervous. "Come on," Dean said, Sam chuckled. "What?" Dean looked at his brother.

"Nothing." Sam picked up his fork and took a tiny bite. Dean watched as a slow smile spread across his face. "It tastes just like hers!" From his tone, Dean knew he was telling the truth.

"Really?" Dean dropped into his chair with a sigh of relief. Sam took another bite, his hand shaking so badly part of the food fell off the fork. "Not bad for a first try, I'll perfect the recipe. Just you wait," Dean said to cover his dismay. Sam had said he could barely feed himself and this was the first time Dean had really realized what he meant. _He did so well this morning, he's getting tired. _The fork's progress got slower and slower and after seven bites, Sam was sweating, the muscles in his arm trembling. Sam put the fork down and Dean unconsciously reached for it.

"Don't," Sam's quiet plea stopped him.

"Don't what?" Dean asked, looking up.

"Don't try to feed me, Dean, I couldn't take it," Sam said desperately.

"Wasn't my plan at all," Dean lied. He picked up Sam's plate and pulled a lightweight plastic bowl out of the cupboard. He scraped the food into the bowl and walked back to the table. "Can you lift that left arm?"

"A little."

"Let me help." Dean put Sam's elbow on the table, propping his hand in the air. "Can you hold it like that?"

"Yeah?" Sam said confused.

"Okay." Dean put the bowl in Sam's left hand and handed him the fork. "Scoop it out, can you manage that?"

"What?" Sam frowned.

"Just scoop it, we'll worry about good manners later."

"Dean?"

"Are you going to let the food go to waste? After I…"

"Slaved over a hot stove all day?" Sam finished for him. "I don't know."

"It's either that or the choo choo."

"The choo choo?"

"Remember? Here comes the choo choo, open the tunnel."

"I remember, Dean." Sam smiled. "I was terrified of trains for years because of that."

"Oh, you so weren't."

"Yeah I was, I was worried they were going to get food in my nose."

"Shut up."

"Or my eye."

"Bite me."

"Or my hair."

"Well, if you'd held still when I was feeding you, the food would have gone in your mouth," Dean said with a stupid grin on his face. Sam was scooping the macaroni and cheese into his mouth.

"This is really good," Sam said several bites later.

"I'm glad you like it, Sammy."

"Thanks." Sam set the bowl down, it was almost empty.

"Hot tub?"

"Not tonight, Dean, I'm pretty tired and the drugs…"

"Yeah."

"Can I take another shower before bed, though?"

"Sure, we can have dessert later." Dean got the wheelchair and brought it to the table, helped Sam in and wheeled him into the bathroom. "I'll get you some clean clothes." Dean grabbed the clothes out of the dresser and put them in the waterproof shelf with a towel, then helped Sam onto the shower stool. "Yell when you're done."

"Thanks," Sam said with a tired smile.

Dean closed the shower door and waited in the bathroom until he heard the water come on. He walked to the dresser where he kept Sam's medicine and got out the evening meds and an extra pain pill for later in the night, then locked it up again, sliding the false bottom back over the locked storage area. He didn't think Sam was actively suicidal, but why take a chance? Dean had built the drawer himself, with a heavy duty lock that had resisted all efforts to pick it when he'd given it a try. He'd also chosen a drawer high enough up that Sam would have to stand to get to it, assuming he realized where the meds were. Dean had to admit he felt guilty about it all as he put the clothes back over the false bottom, but after seeing Sam's moods, he was glad it was there for the time being.

With a sigh, he headed out into the kitchen to put the dishes in the dishwasher. Dean got out the cake Alan had brought over and cut them both a piece. While he was there, he got the roast out of the freezer and put it in the fridge. _Am I biting off more than I can handle with this one? Hilly said it was easy. _Dean pulled the recipe out, and looked at it again. It seemed pretty easy, and it would make a nice dinner since Alan was coming by the next day. _Unless I kill us all with bad roast. _That made him chuckle. He checked on Sam, the water was still running, went back and made hot chocolate to go with the cake, checked on Sam, turned Sam's bed down, checked on him, changed into sweats and sat on his bed.

"Dean?" Sam called about fifteen minutes later. "I'm ready."

"Coming, Sam." Dean thought about grabbing the wheelchair, then changed his mind. _Alan said he needs to be up as much as he can. This makes it easy and he won't refuse the help just to the bed. _Dean opened the shower door and his brother smiled at him. Dean helped him up and carried him into the bedroom. He thought he saw Sam try and take a step, but he refrained from mentioning it, not wanting to pressure Sam too much in one day. He settled Sam in the bed, raising the back so his brother could sit up. "You ready for dessert?"

"Sure."

"Okay." Dean handed Sam his meds, then walked to the closet and pulled out the gift he'd found at the thrift store a few days before. He carried it to the bed and put it in front of Sam, then put the cake and hot chocolate on it. Sam was quiet. "Sammy?"

"You remembered," Sam whispered, he looked up, his eyes bright.

"Yeah."

"_I'm going to get me one of those sometime, Dean," his eight-year-old brother said. _

"_One what, Sammy?"_

"_Those fancy trays for eating in bed like they have in all these old movies," Sam said, pointing to the old thirties film playing on the TV. "With the place for a newspaper or book, and everything."_

"_Sure, Sammy." Dean grinned. _

Dean dragged the TV tray over to his bed and sat down. "Want to watch a little TV?"

Sam looked over at him. "Can you tell me more?"

"More?"

"About what happened," Sam said quietly.

"Maybe we should give it a break, Sammy." Dean's heart was pounding.

"Just till I get sleepy?"

"It's not a very good bedtime story."

"Yours never were," Sam said with a chuckle. "Or at least they aren't most people's idea of a bedtime story."

"Hey…"

"Let's see, bedtime stories I remember. The happy Christmas stories _Lethal Weapon_ and _Die Hard_…"

"It's better than Little Red Riding Hood. That story is just creepy."

"Then there was _Star Wars._"

"Hell yeah, complete with sound effects," Dean said defensively.

"Right. And let's see…"

"Okay, Sammy, I get the idea." Dean grinned, then the smile faded.

"Just till I get sleepy? Please, Dean?"

"You sound about three, you know that?" Dean sighed. "Okay, Sam, a little more."

**Some Weeks Earlier**

Dean had no idea how much time had passed. Sometime after the doctor spoke with him, the dark-haired man—who'd introduced himself as Nate Mondragon—gently persuaded Dean to wash the blood off his hands and face. When Dean came out of the bathroom, the blond woman Nate had spoken to at the bar was there, he introduced her as his wife, Nancy. Two uniformed police officers were standing there as well. They took Dean's statement and said in all the confusion the shooter—described as a pretty dark woman—had escaped. They were looking for her, but they had nothing to go on yet.

After the cops left, Dean sank back down in a chair. Someone else came out and spoke to them and then the Mondragons were pulling him towards the elevator. When the doors opened he noticed the "surgery waiting area" sign and stumbled down the hall to the chairs, his eyes never leaving the doors marked "to OR".

Sometime later, a cup of coffee was pressed into his hands. Not the usual hospital fare, but something that smelled like expensive espresso. When the cup was empty, someone took it out of his hand. He looked up, Nancy smiled at him. Nate was sitting beside them. The doors to the OR opened, but the doctor walked past them to a couple sitting on a couch together. Dean sighed. At some point he ate. Food appeared and he consumed it mechanically, focused on the doors. He'd been staring at the doors for so long, watching people go in and out, that when a man in scrubs came out, it didn't register that he was headed towards them until Nate stood. Dean looked at him and got up. "My brother?" Dean asked, surprised at how harsh his voice was, Nancy put her hand on his back.

"We're moving him to ICU," the doctor said in the emotionless voice of the medical profession.

"How is he?"

"Critical. He came through surgery, but only just. We nearly lost him more than once. Someone else might not have made it at all. I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you."

"What?" Dean asked aghast.

"He's in very bad shape. We'll know more in twenty-four hours."

"But…"

"Excuse me," the doctor said and walked away. Dean watched him go, wanting to race after him and demand to know more about Sam's condition, wanting to hit him just wipe the meaningless smile off the doctor's face. He ground his teeth together and clenched his fists.

"Dean?" Nate said gently, Dean looked over at him. "Let's get down to ICU."

"Okay." Dean walked towards the elevator, looking at the floor directory beside the doors. He blinked, the words were fuzzy, and blinked again, then swiped the tears off his face. The doors opened and he got in. Nancy pressed the fifth floor button and the elevator lurched into motion. The reality of the situation was catching him again, it was getting harder and harder to fight back the tears. When the elevator stopped and he got out and followed the Mondragons down the corridor. Nate spoke with the nurse and she pointed them towards a room in the corner of the ward.

Dean walked to the door and stopped, wishing it was a nightmare, hoping when he walked in he would find the doctors dire words a lie. He knew they weren't, but some part of him still refused to believe what had happened. He could hear the hiss of oxygen and the beeping of the heart monitor. Taking a deep breath, he walked in. Numb feet carried him over to his brother, eyes blinded by tears took in the figure on the bed, the machines keeping Sam alive. The room was full of the sound of Dean's pounding heart, of his ragged breathing. He sank down in the chair by the bed and waited for the tears to start again.

They didn't come.

Instead, something inside him broke.

**Present**

Dean took a deep breath, trying to let go of the aching wound that had opened that night that still hadn't healed. He cleared his throat and looked over at Sam. His brother was staring into space, tears on his cheeks. "Sammy?" Dean got up and put his hand on his brother's arm.

"Maybe you should have let me go, Dean."

"What? Oh, no, not an option, Sammy, how many times do I have to tell you that?"

"I didn't realize… I…" Sam took a shaky breath.

"What?" Dean asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I…" Sam swallowed and looked away. "Can I have a pain pill?"

"Sure, let me get that." Dean got the pill he'd set out earlier and handed it to his brother. Sam took the pill with a sip of the chocolate and leaned back. Dean sat on the edge of the bed, turned on the oxygen and fit the tube over Sam's face. He smiled and put his hand on Sam's chest.

"Dean…"

"We'll get through this, Sam."

"I don't know."

"I do," Dean said firmly. Sam's eyes were starting to droop. "You should sleep."

"Yeah, can't keep my eyes open all of a sudden." Sam sighed, and put his hand over Dean's. "You'll be here?"

"Of course, Sammy."

"Thanks, Dean," Sam said, sounding very young. His eyes closed.

Dean stayed on the edge of the bed with his hand on Sam's chest long after his brother's breathing evened out in sleep. He tried to take comfort in the strong beat of Sam's heart under his hand and tried just as hard to ignore the hitch of pain he could hear in each of Sam's breaths. Dean sighed, the tears making their way down his face. "We'll get through this, Sammy,  
he whispered. "We have to."

_**To be Continued **_


	7. French Toast and Surprises

_A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing! Huge hugs to you all. I know I'm a little behind with posting on this one, so I thought you would like a nice long chapter. The recipes for the French toast and the roast are at muffymorrigan (dot) com, click on Muffy's Cookbook. Thank you to PADavis. Abni and TraSan for help and all with this chapter, you guys rock! Not just very small rocks, either. _

**Gifts**

**Chapter Seven**

**French Toast and Surprises**

The sound of the shower turning on woke Sam. He'd been dreaming, half nightmare, half something else, when the noise pulled him from sleep. The scent of coffee filled the room, Sam glanced to his right and saw a cup of coffee sitting within reach on his bedside table. He picked it up and sipped, Dean always had the correct mixture of milk and sugar.

Sam stared up at the ceiling. Dean was hurting, he could tell. He really had no idea what happened between the time he'd been shot and when he woke up in the ICU with Dean beside him. In fact, a lot of the time in ICU was hazy. Sam sighed, wondering if knowing helped or not, wondering if knowing how bad it really was would make it worse. Some days he thought if he could just get out from under the continual pain and ongoing exhaustion from the infection for just an hour everything would change. It just seemed never-ending and every hour it lasted just added to his inability to cope. He kept hoping the pain would diminish, or the infection would get better. _Or I could take a step on my own. _Nothing changed, and it was dragging him down.

The depression was getting worse, he didn't know how to tell Dean. The loss of the Impala wounded him and he had no idea how Dean could let his baby go so easily. Sam missed the large black car like one of the family was gone, and he figured it had to be much worse for Dean. An idea was beginning to form, he wondered if he could manage it, maybe it would make things easier for his brother. Sam took a deep breath, pain slid through his body as his chest muscles expanded, and let it out slowly. The thought floated around the top of his mind, a leaf caught in a whirlpool.

"You're awake!" Dean's voice startled him.

"Yeah."

"Breakfast? Shower?"

"I'm not really hungry, Dean," Sam said, looking over at his brother. For just an instant he saw Dean's face fall, but he recovered quickly. "And I took a shower before bed."

"Then breakfast it is."

"I'm not hungry."

"I'm making French toast."

"French toast?"

"With vanilla," Dean smiled.

"_What do you want to eat?" His fourteen-year-old brother asked Sam._

"_I don't know, Dean, I still don't feel really good, my throat hurts."_

"_I know, strep sucks. What about French toast?"_

"_Like Bobby's?" Sam asked with a grimace._

"_I think I can avoid burning it to a crisp."_

"_Yeah, 'cause you know, burned eggs are gross."_

"_I know, Sammy. I thought I'd try adding a little vanilla to it, whatcha think?" Dean smiled._

"_Vanilla's my favorite!"_

"_Yep, be right back." Dean wandered over to the kitchenette of the motel room and started cooking, a few minutes later he presented Sam with a plate of food, soaked in butter and syrup. "Go ahead, try it," Dean said, bouncing on his toes._

_Sam took a cautious bite, chewed and swallowed, the soft food was gentle on his throat and even better than that… "It's better than the restaurant kind, Dean!" _

"_Good." Dean grinned at him and grabbed a plate for himself. Over the years it had become Dean's way to bribe Sam—into eating when he was ill, into helping with chores when Sam didn't want to, into apologizing to their father after a fight. It was also something Dean always dragged out on special occasions. To Sam, Christmas and birthdays would always smell like his brother's French toast. _

"Okay, Dean," Sam said, smiling. "A little French toast sounds good."

"That's my boy." Dean rolled the wheelchair over, turned off the oxygen and helped Sam into the chair. He rolled it out into the living room, bright autumn sun was pouring through the windows. Dean poured Sam another cup of coffee and started making breakfast. "Alan's coming for dinner tonight, I thought I'd try a roast."

"Isn't that a little ambitious?" Sam asked dubiously.

"The recipe looks pretty easy, we'll see." Dean put a plate in front of Sam.

"Thanks." There was only one piece on the plate. Dean understood his appetite was affected by everything. Eating one piece didn't seem that hard. Sam picked up his fork and tried a piece. It was one of the rituals, he had to try it before Dean would eat. "Perfect as always, Dean."

"Good, I was worried, I used that fancy bread and didn't know how well it would work."

"It works fine." Sam hesitated, took a deep breath and blurted out, "Can we skip the park today?"

"Why?" Dean frowned at him.

"I don't want to get cold today, maybe we could hang around here, try out the hot tub instead?"

"Sounds good, we'll break in the exercise room," Dean said.

"Dean…"

"Nope, Sammy, therapy one way or the other, either at the lake or here. We can do a little more here."

"Okay, Dean." To Sam's surprise his brother burst out laughing. "What?" Dean shook his head and kept laughing. "Dude, what?"

"Sorry," Dean said, wiping his eyes. "But you haven't managed that tone in years."

"Oh." Sam smiled. "That was really good, thanks. Can I watch a little TV before we start?"

"Sure." Dean wheeled Sam over to the chair in the living room and helped him sit down. He handed Sam the remote and disappeared into the bedroom. He came back through a minute later with sheets in his arms and walked into the pantry. Sam flipped on the TV, but listened to Dean singing in the laundry room. _It has to bother him, all this domestic stuff. _He sighed and found a show on the history of canned goods on one channel and settled in to watch.

"Soup?" Dean said, flopping down on the chair beside Sam. "It's a show about soup?"

"It's a show about canning."

"Looks like soup."

"Right now it's about soup, it was about vegetables a few minutes ago," Sam said with an eye roll, Dean chuckled. "There's one about beer on after this one."

"Okay, Sammy, let me get us another cup of coffee and we'll watch your stupid soup show, then the beer show, then therapy."

"Okay." Sam leaned back in the chair, before the first show was over he was dozing, listening to the drone of the show and his brother's running commentary. "They drank beer for breakfast? Cool. Pumpkin ale, gross…" It went on for the whole show. Sam never dropped all the way off, instead drifting along on the edge of awareness, until he felt Dean's hand on his arm. He opened his eyes, Dean smiled at him. "What?"

"Let me check on the roast and then we'll get a little therapy in." Sam watched as his brother poked at the roast in the fridge. "Looks all thaw-y."

"Looks thaw-y?"

"Yep, I know you don't recognize it, but that's chef's talk."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Yeah, bite me." Dean helped Sam into the wheelchair and pushed him into the second bedroom, full of gleaming equipment. "We'll take it easy today, Sammy." Dean stopped the chair by a massage table and helped Sam onto it. "We'll see if all that training pays off."

"Training?" Sam asked.

"Alan arranged for me to work with the PT so I'd know what to do when we came home," Dean said with a smile. "Let's do this, we'll start with the stretches."

"Okay, Dean." A few minutes later, Sam was impressed with the amount of therapy Dean had learned. He carefully took Sam through the exercises that Sam had done in the physical therapy room at the hospital. Sam concentrated on making it through without groaning too much, instead focusing on Dean's humming. It always amazed Sam that Dean seemed to have a soundtrack running in his head at all times, task appropriate music—and without the stereo even being on.

"Now we're going to try that left arm a little more, Sammy," Dean said.

"I don't know if I can." Sam accepted Dean's help so he could sit up. Dean took his left hand and gently rubbed the arm for a moment. "Dean…"

"No, try, just a little." Dean put a little pressure on Sam's hand. "Push up, Sammy." Sam took a deep breath and tried to push against Dean's hand. "A little more." Dean said quietly. Sam tried harder, he couldn't move Dean's hand at all. "Just a moment more, Sam." Sam pushed, felt the burn in his muscles as he did and then felt Dean's hand shift a tiny bit. "Good! I knew you could do it." Dean looked at him with a silly grin on his face. "Awesome job, Sammy." He patted Sam's shoulder and got the wheelchair.

"I barely moved at all, Dean."

"You moved," Dean said firmly. "Hot tub time."

"Okay." Sam let Dean help him into swim trunks and a robe, then into the chair. "Are you wearing that?"

"No, I have my stuff on under my sweats," Dean said, pushing Sam through the apartment and out the door into the garden,

Sam looked around as they went. He hadn't been out the back of the complex. There was a small garden in the patio of their apartment, then a larger one in the center of the courtyard. Most of the trees were covered in bright reds and yellows and the fall flowers were all in bloom. Sam sighed, it was good to be outside, and he half regretted not going to the lake.

"We'll try out the barbeque some night," Dean said. "We can use it, we just have to reserve the space to let other tenants know. Maybe in a week."

"Maybe."

"Here we are." Dean opened a door to the building at the far end of the courtyard. As they entered Sam could smell chlorine. Off to the left, he heard the funny echo swimming pools always seemed to have. Dean steered him to the right, past a bank of soft drink and snack machines. Dean opened another door and pushed Sam in, he could hear the rumble and bubble of the jets for the hot tub. It was on a platform, there were steps and a small ramp leading up to it. "They let me put the ramp in, they weren't handicap compliant."

"You did it?" Sam felt tears in his eyes.

"Yeah." Dean shrugged. "I know you like hot tubs, and it's a good place for a little more therapy." Dean rolled him up the ramp and helped him into the warm water. Dean dropped into the tub with a sigh. "Good stuff. I'll let you relax for a minute, then we'll do a few more stretches." Dean kept one hand on Sam, propping him firmly against the side of the tub.

"I can sit up on my own, Dean," Sam said quietly. _Please, Dean, I feel helpless enough…_

"I know, Sammy, I just wanted you to get used to the jets for a sec," Dean replied easily. He patted Sam's shoulder and dropped his hand.

"Oh, sorry." Sam couldn't help the flush of embarrassment that ran up his cheeks. Dean probably was just letting him adjust. His brother had always seemed to understand when Sam needed help and when help would push him over the edge. He often wondered just how Dean knew. Sam closed his eyes and leaned back, letting the warm water ease the pain in his back and chest. His arms floated on the surface of the water, moved by the swirling water. _I can do this, I can do this. _

"Ready for a few more stretches?" Dean said sometime later. Sam opened his eyes and looked at his brother. "Just a few?"

"Sure, can I have something to drink first?" Sam asked, smiling at Dean.

"Will you be okay?"

"Dean, we've been sitting here for fifteen minute, you're just going out into the lobby, I'll be fine." Sam put enough annoyance into his tone that Dean chuckled a little and stepped out of the tub.

Sam waited until he heard the door close. He knew he didn't have long. _I just want to see if I can… _He shoved himself away from the support of the wall. Warm water closed over his head and as usual, he sank right to the bottom.

"_I can't float, Dean," Sam said to his thirteen-year-old brother after swim classes one evening._

"_It's your own fault, Sammy." Dean grinned at him. _

"_How is it my fault?" Sam tried not to whine, but it came out pretty close to a whine. _

"_Well…" Dean crossed his arms and looked at him appraisingly. "If you didn't fill your head with all that junk, it wouldn't be so heavy."_

"_Very funny," Sam said, taking a playful swing at Dean. _

His lungs were beginning to burn. Part of him wondered where Dean was, how his brother would take it. The other part just wanted to draw a breath. The instinctive part of him that wanted to survive at all costs tried to push up out of the water, but his arm wouldn't take the weight. He was starting to get desperate. The urge to breathe was becoming overwhelming. _Sorry, Dean, this didn't go as planned._

**XXX**

Dean wandered out into the lobby, hoping there was something other than soft drinks in the machine. He was glad Sam had asked to stay home, he had a surprise coming for his brother and he had no idea when Nate and Nancy would show up. Dean sighed, he hoped it was the right choice. _I seem to think that a lot lately. _

The breeze from the fan chilled him as he walked through the building. He stopped in front of the machine and was trying to decide between a sport's drink and a "vitamin" drink when the sense of something being terribly wrong hit him like a ton of bricks. Dean wasn't sure what it was, but he turned and ran back to where he'd left Sam. He raced through the door, immediately looking at the tub. Sam was nowhere to be seen

"Sam!" Dean ran up on the platform and jumped in, dragging Sam out of the water and onto the wood deck. "Sam?" _Oh no, oh please no, please no. _Dean felt tears in his eyes. For one terrifying moment, Sam didn't move, didn't breath. "SAM!" Dean heard the crescendo of panic in his voice. His brother suddenly took a gasping breath and started coughing. Dean pulled him up and held him as he coughed. "Oh, god, Sammy, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have left."

"Not your fault," Sam got out between coughs. "Hurts a lot," he said, holding on to Dean.

"Let's get you back to the apartment. Can you sit up while I grab the chair?" Dean asked, Sam nodded, still coughing a little. Dean pushed the chair over and lifted Sam into it, draping the robe over his brother before hurrying them out of the building and back to their apartment. Sam started coughing harder in the cool outside air, and by the time Dean opened the door to the apartment, Sam was gasping for breath. Dean pushed Sam into the room, slammed the sliding door closed and ran into the bedroom, grabbed the oxygen and a syringe of meds and ran back out. He fit the tube over Sam's head, then administered the pain medicine. "I'm going to get you some warm clothes, okay?" Sam nodded again, the coughing had slowed.

Dean walked back into the bedroom, locked the drawer up again, grabbed a towel out of the stack in the closet and pulled some clothes out of the dresser for Sam. He glanced in the mirror and got a good look at himself, his eyes still wide from fear. He realized his hands were shaking. _I could have lost him again. What was I thinking? _Helplessness and frustration found their favorite expression and Dean felt anger bubble up through his chest. He stepped away from the chest of drawers, trying to calm himself before going back into the living room. Dean made it almost to the door before the anger became rage and it boiled over. The next thing he knew, his hand was aching and he was looking at a bloody knuckle. He bent the finger carefully. _Great, at least it's not dislocated. Wall punching really isn't that smart, Dean. _

By the time Dean got back into the living room, Sam had stopped coughing and had his head in his hands. "I'm so sorry, Sammy," Dean said again. He gently started toweling Sam off.

"Not your fault," Sam said from behind his hands.

"I shouldn't have left."

"Dean," Sam looked up and grabbed his wrist. "It's not your fault." There was an odd look of desperation in Sam's eyes that terrified Dean. "What's wrong with your hand?"

"Nothing." Dean snatched his hand back.

"Dean?"

"It's nothing, Sam. Let's get you into some dry clothes."

"Did the wall annoy you?" Sam asked with the hint of a smile playing on his face.

"Maybe," Dean mumbled as he helped Sam into the t-shirt and sweats.

"Punching walls isn't smart."

"Yeah it is, brings them right back in line. They behave for days after a good punching." Dean lifted Sam out of the wheelchair and helped him settle into the recliner. "Sam, I…" A knock on the door interrupted him. "That might be Nate and Nancy."

"Nate and Nancy?" Sam frowned.

"Yeah, they visited once or twice while you were in the hospital, remember?" Dean asked as he walked to the door. He opened it and smiled at the couple. "Did you bring it?"

"We have it." Nancy held up a small white box.

"Thanks." Dean looked into the living room. "They brought a surprise for you, Sammy. Come in and let it loose."

"A surprise?" Sam craned his head towards the door.

"Okay, but it's a little hellion," Nate said as Nancy put the box on the floor and opened the cage door at the front.

"Perfect," Dean said with a grin.

Nothing happened for a second, then a gray blur shot out of the box and careened around the room at light speed, bouncing off walls, furniture and people. It finally stopped, and with an odd sounding little squeak it climbed up Sam's chair, walked along his body and peered into his eyes.

"Dean?" Sam asked, child-like smile of delight spreading on his face.

"It's moving in for awhile, is that okay?" Dean said, walking over to his brother and the kitten. He wondered if Sam realized he was stroking the small animal with his left hand.

"He," Nancy said. "Hi, Sam, do you remember me?"

"Yeah, you sat with me when Dean was gone during the day a couple of times." Sam smiled at her.

"Yep, had to keep you company while Dean was doing an honest days work," Nate said.

"Work?" Sam looked from Dean to Nate.

"I work for Nate at his garage. You'll see it on Tuesday when I go in again."

"We have an office all set up for you with a chair and bed, TV and wireless internet." Nate pulled up a chair and sat down beside Sam. The kitten looked at him, wiggled its butt and leaped onto Nate, then with another wiggle leaped onto Dean. Only it hit Dean mid-chest and had to claw its way up his body. "You okay?" Nate asked, clamping his lips together.

"You laugh, Nate, and I swear I don't care if you're my boss." Dean was sure he could feel blood pouring from a dozen wounds on his chest.

"Bad cat," Nancy said, detaching the kitten and carrying it back to Sam. It settled down on Sam's chest and started purring.

"Monster." Dean glared at the cat.

"He's a good kitten." Sam said and started laughing.

"Great. Very funny, Sammy. I'm mortally wounded and you're laughing."

"The tiny kitten mortally wounded you, right, maybe you better go check those wounds, see if you need a trip to the ER for sutures."

"Bite me," Dean growled. He wondered if laughing was good for Sam, his brother said it hurt to laugh. _But considering that dose of meds I just gave him, it should be okay._

"Did you need me to call 911?" Sam asked, still laughing. Nancy and Nate were laughing, too.

"Everyone bite me, I'll be right back, I'm going to see how much damage Monster Boy did."

"You sure you don't need the EMTs?" Sam said solicitously as Dean stalked out of the room. Dean growled wordlessly at his brother, Sam laughed harder.

Once Dean was in the privacy of the bathroom he let the grin he'd been suppressing out. He chuckled as he pulled up his shirt and surveyed the damage in the mirror. There were several long scratches across his chest, none were bleeding very much. Dean dabbed a little alcohol on them and peeked back in the living room. Sam was chatting with Nate and Nancy, petting the kitten that was nestled under his chin. _Maybe I did something right this time. _Dean sighed.

"_I'm worried about Sammy, Aunt Phoebe," Dean said to the ancient woman as they sat on the porch together, surrounded by rainbow-hued bunnies. He shifted in the chair, the still-healing wounds ached as he moved._

"_He had quite a scare, Dean, nearly losing you, being the only one keeping you alive, that's hard on a thirteen-year-old," she said softly. _

"_He's not sleeping at all and I haven't heard him laugh since we got here."_

"_I'd like to repeat what I just said, he had a terrible scare, he needs time to deal with it."_

"_Have you seen him?" Dean asked looking around. His brother had been sitting by the tree, but he was gone. "Sammy?" He stood instinctively, then sank back into the chair with a groan._

"_I'll go look for him, he can't go far." She patted his head and walked down the steps. _

_Dean watched her go, the worry for his brother increasing. Since they'd arrived at Aunt Phoebe's, Sam had been withdrawn and clingy, never venturing far from Dean. The fact that Sam was now out of sight drove Dean to a near panic. He saw Phoebe disappear into the purple barn, then reappear a few seconds later. She gestured to Dean. He stood and grabbed the cane he used to get around and slowly made his way across the lawn towards the barn. As he got close a sound caused him to stop in his tracks. Sam was laughing. Dean hurried as best as he could to the barn door. He peeked in. Sam was in one of the stalls surrounded by kittens. One had perched itself on his shoulder and was batting at his bangs. _

"_Dean!" Sam smiled at him, then a frown of concern crossed his face. "Should you be up?"_

"_He can sit in here with you, Sammy," Aunt Phoebe said, helping Dean over to the stall. He lowered himself into the hay. "I'll be back to get the two of you at suppertime."_

"_Yes, ma'am," they answered together. _

_Once she was gone, Dean leaned back against the wall and watched his brother. A few moments later, he was swarmed by kittens, Sam laughing happily as he tried to dig Dean out from under the pouncing balls of fur. "Monsters, Sammy."_

"_Yep, scary monsters." Sam chuckled. He scooted back so he was sitting beside Dean. They played with the kittens for another hour before Sam was quiet. Dean looked over, his brother was sound asleep with five of the kittens draped over his body. Dean smiled. _

_Sam spent at least part of the day with kittens after that, Dean usually joined him and they both ended up napping under a pile of "the furry beasts" as Dean called them, on a daily basis. _

Dean walked back into the living room. Sam blinked at him, his eyes drooping a little. "Hey, Sammy, how're you doing?"

"Getting a little sleepy. Sorry," he said to Nate and Nancy. "I sleep in the afternoons sometimes."

"Nothing to be sorry for." Nate stood. "We came by to drop the kitten…"

"Monster," Dean corrected him.

"The _kitten_ off, we'll see you on Tuesday."

"Thanks again," Dean said as he escorted them to the door.

"No problem, if there's anything else we can do let us know, okay?" Nancy gave Dean a quick kiss on the cheek and they left, waving as they got into their car.

"Thank you, Dean." Sam smiled when Dean walked back into the living room. The kitten was hanging over Sam's arm, twitching a little in its sleep.

"You're welcome, Sam. I thought we needed a little more excitement. Of course, I wasn't expecting an evil beast."

Sam chuckled and yawned. "I need to sleep for awhile, Dean."

"I know," Dean said, patting him on the chest. "I'll get the roast started, Alan will be here around five."

"Okay." Sam yawned again and closed his eyes. He was snoring softly a few minutes later.

Dean walked into the kitchen, turned the oven on and got the bacon and garlic out and put the roast on the counter. He softened the bacon in a skillet, then carefully following Hilly's directions he "larded" the roast by piercing it and putting the bacon in the holes. When he was finished he layered bacon on top, sprinkled it with garlic and put it into the oven. He washed his hands, checked on Sam and stepped silently into the garden, closing the door and pulling his cell phone out. Dean walked far enough away from the door to make sure there was no chance Sam could overhear him, then called Alan.

"Dean! Do you want cake or pie for dessert?"

"Alan, I took Sam to the hot tub to do a little therapy today."

"Good, good! I was hoping you'd get a chance to do that," the doctor said happily.

"Alan… I…"

"What is it?" The jovial tone disappeared. "Dean?"

"I think Sam tried to kill himself."

_**To Be Continued**_


	8. Confessions and Realizations

_A/N: I wish I could say I just made up everything about Dr. Edwards. Sadly, I didn't. Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing. Hope you all don't mind a nice long chapter._

**Gifts**

**Chapter Eight**

**Confessions and Realizations**

The kitchen smelled like roasted meat and berry pie. Dean carefully took the pie, Alan's contribution to dinner, out of the oven. He'd stuck it in there to warm about halfway through the meal. Dinner had been a bigger success than he'd hoped. Sam and Alan had both shown appreciation for the bacon covered, garlic-crusted roast and Dean had managed to "mess up" the carving enough so he could put small pieces on Sam's plate without making his brother feel helpless.

"Do you want ice cream on the pie?" Dean asked, putting the pastry on the table.

"Do we have cream?" Sam said.

"Cream?" Alan looked from one to the other. "You're going to make whipped cream?"

"No, he just likes cream poured over the pie," Dean said, getting the heavy cream out of the refrigerator.

"You like what?" Alan grimaced.

"Try it, you might like it." Sam smiled at the doctor.

"I have ice cream, too." Dean soaked Sam's piece, making sure it was soggy enough to spoon out without a lot of effort. He grabbed the ice cream and sat back down. As he did, sharp pain shot up his leg, starting at his ankle and running up the entire length of the limb. He jumped up, a ball of gray fur and claws was hanging onto his leg. When he stood, it continued the climb. He grabbed it by the scruff of the neck and pulled it off. It looked at him and reached a paw out towards him. Sam started laughing. "Stupid…"

"Dean," Sam said warningly, he'd been listening to Dean and the cat most of the afternoon and probably knew what was coming.

"F……" Dean drew the "f" out. "Freaking monster."

"Who's this?" Alan asked, looking at the kitten.

"Freaking mistake is what this is," Dean grumbled. He put the kitten down, it climbed back up and onto the table. Before Dean could grab it, it stuck its head in Sam's pie and started lapping happily.

"Fim," Sam said, petting the kitten.

"Fim?" Alan frowned.

"It's easier to say than F M and I thought shortening Dean's name for him would be a good idea."

"Dean's name?"

"Freaking monster is the polite version." Sam chuckled as Dean sat back down.

"Freaking monsters do not belong on the table," Dean glowered at his brother. Sam grinned at him. "Sam…"

"He wants some cream."

"Well, you have to eat that piece, I'm not getting you a new one. Cat germs and all. So there." Dean picked up his fork and glanced at Sam. "Oh no you don't." Sam had the full-on sad puppy look. "Nope, not working." _Damn, how does he do that? _"Fine, whatever." Dean got up and got another bowl out of the cupboard, cut Sam a piece of pie and doused it in cream. "If it eats out of that bowl, you're stuck."

"Yeah, right." Sam grinned at him. Dean watched the slow progress of Sam's spoon, his brother's hand was shaking badly. He took two bites, then put the spoon down. Fim batted it off the table. "Freaking monster." Dean turned to get another spoon.

"I don't want anymore."

"Sam?"

"Not right now, Dean, maybe later." Sam gave him an intense look. Dean got it. Sam didn't mind scooping food when it was the two of them, but he wouldn't do it in front of Alan.

"Okay. Before bed?"

"Sure." Sam smiled. "Do you mind if I lie down?" he said to Alan.

"Go ahead. I'll pick up the dishes while Dean gets you settled."

Dean got up and pushed Sam through the house. The kitten watched as he backed Sam away from the table, then made a flying leap onto his lap. Once they were in the bedroom, Dean removed Fim from his brother and set it on the other bed, wagging a finger at it. The kitten batted his hand, then started pouncing on the bedspread. Dean shook his head as he helped Sam into bed.

"Do I have to have the oxygen?"

"Alan said yes, especially after the accident this afternoon…" Dean trailed off at the bleak look in Sam's eyes. "I'll get rid of Alan and we can watch TV."

"Okay," Sam said, closing his eyes.

"I'll be back in a few." Dean watched him for a minute, then wandered back into the kitchen. "You didn't have to do that," he said to the doctor as he looked around the clean kitchen.

"I know. How's Sam?" Alan asked, turning to him.

"You tell me."

Alan leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. "I don't think his lungs were injured…"

"Not what I meant."

"You're right, the depression is worse. I can't tell you everything he said, but…" The doctor hesitated.

"But?"

"We should tell him. I mean you should."

"Tell him?"

"How bad it was, Dean."

"I thought Dr. Berg said that would set his recovery back." Dean ground his teeth together, his last interview with Sam's psychiatrist had not gone well. "I thought you agreed with him."

"Berg is an idiot. He gets it right sometimes, but in this case not knowing is doing the damage, I think. Sam needs to know, he needs to understand."

"I told you," Dean snapped angrily.

"I know you did, but in my experience it often doesn't help."

"I've never not told him. Never, even when it was bad."

"I'm sorry," the doctor said softly. "So sorry—for everything, Dean."

Dean scrubbed his hands over his face and looked up at Alan. "It's not your fault. I'll talk to Sam tonight."

"No."

"No?"

"Not tonight, take him the pie, sit with him, and let him sleep tonight, talk tomorrow."

"Okay," Dean said wearily. "Assuming he can sleep."

"He will, I brought this." The doctor handed him a syringe. "It's the good stuff, it will let him sleep all night—and let you get a little sleep too, I hope."

"I don't think I'll be sleeping much tonight, Alan."

"Try," he said, clapping Dean on the shoulder. "I should get going, I need to check on…" He swallowed, then smiled. "I'll call tomorrow."

"Thanks." Dean walked him to the door.

"I'll be back for dinner in a couple of days."

"Mooch."

"I brought the pie!" Alan laughed. "There's a deli that does this flourless cake, I'll bring that next time, plan on something that goes with chocolate."

"Sure. Thank again."

"No need for thanks, Dean, you know that." Alan smiled and walked down the path to his car. Dean closed the door, picked up Sam's pie and headed to the bedroom.

The kitten had managed to get onto Sam's bed and was leaping around at the foot. Dean saw a tiny movement under the blankets, and the kitten pounced again. Sam was focused on the flying ball of fluff, frowning with concentration. More movement under the blankets and the kitten leaped to the other side of the bed. Dean realized what was going on with a happy start. Sam was wiggling his toes for the monster to attack.

"You're going to regret that when you need fewer blankets," Dean said, walking in, grabbing Sam's tray and putting the pie on it. "No! Freaking monster." As soon as the tray was down on the bed, the kitten was there, pawing at it.

"It's okay, Dean." Sam smiled and spooned up a little pie. "Is Alan gone?"

"Yeah, said he'd call tomorrow and be back for dinner again."

"Is he checking up on us?"

"No, I think he's mooching." Dean grinned and sat down on his bed, glancing over at Sam. "Oh no you don…Ooof." Fim made the jump to Dean's bed and landed on his chest. "Sit with Sam." He picked it up and carried it back to his brother's bed. "Stay."

"Does that work with kittens?" Sam asked with a smile.

"It better, I'm not having that freaking monster on me all night. Want to watch a little TV before you go to sleep?"

"I'm tired but not sleepy."

"Alan left some of the good stuff with me, if you want, Sammy."

"Good, after the pie, then. Thanks, Dean."

"Yeah." Dean settled back and turned on the TV.

Dean was pacing through the house. It was the end of a long and sleepless night. Once Sam had gone to sleep, Dean had started pacing. He knew he had to do something, Sam's possible suicide attempt was haunting him. Part of him wanted to believe his brother had slipped, the other part knew what it meant to Sam to be helpless. Sam had been slipping further and further into depression, it was why Alan and Dean had thought it best to bring Sam home. Being in the hospital underscored the injury, the illness and the accompanying helplessness. He was pretty sure Sam was close to rock bottom. And Dean knew he had to do something.

That something presented itself finally, about five in the morning. He was pretty sure it would work, even though he was equally sure Sam would end up hating him. At six he called Alan to check the plan with him. The doctor assured Dean that it was okay to try. Once the plan was set in motion in his head, Dean started getting nervous, pacing around the house, waiting for Sam to wake up.

He'd known all along keeping the extent of Sam's injuries from him was a huge mistake. They always told each other, even when it was bad. _Especially when it's bad. _Knowledge was power, or so Sam always said, and knowing let them plan and deal with whatever came their way. He'd tried to explain to Alan and the idiot psychiatrist, told them that both he and Sam had been close to death on more than one occasion, and they always told the other what was happening. The idiot insisted it would damage Sam, and Dean had been so worn down at the point he'd agreed—against his better judgment.

So, now he had to face this, fix the damage that had been done and shake his brother out of his depression. _And, while I'm at it, I will jump tall buildings in a single bound, fly through the air and save damsels in distress. _He took a breath and resisted the urge to beat his head against the wall, instead checking the clock and deciding that it was time for coffee. _Actually well past time. _Dean pulled the beans out of the freezer and got the coffee grinder down, ground the beans and got the pot going.

"Dean?" Sam's soft call propelled him through the house. _Calmly, propelled calmly. _

"What is it, Sammy?"

"What was that noise?"

"Coffee grinder," Dean said, smiling.

"Coffee grinder?" Sam's eyebrows climbed into his bangs. "You're grinding coffee?"

"Why not? It's better that way. Where's the monster?" Dean asked, looking around the room.

"Come here."

Dean walked over to Sam's bed as his brother lifted the blankets. The kitten was curled in the crook of Sam's left arm. "Under the covers?"

"He got there by himself," Sam said. The kitten woke up and looked from Sam to Dean. "Can I take a shower?"

"Sure, let me put your stuff in there and I'll go get breakfast on, so it will be ready when you're done." Dean grabbed a change of clothes and a clean towel for Sam, put it all in the shelf in the shower, then helped his brother in. He waited until he heard the water come on, and headed into the kitchen to start breakfast. The kitten leaped off the bed and followed him through the house. Dean got a can of cat food out of the cupboard and put it on a plate. "This stuff stinks, you know that?" The cat was unimpressed with his comments and started eating with tiny growls of contentment. Dean chuckled and got the potatoes and onions he'd cut up out of the fridge and started frying them.

The potatoes and onions were done by the time Sam called him. He wheeled his brother into the kitchen, poured him a cup of coffee and got the IV going. Sam watched as he poured eggs over the potatoes and onions in the skillet.

"What are you making?" Sam asked.

"Dean's Amazing Breakfast Skillet Number One."

"Right, Number One and that is?"

"Eggs scrambled in potatoes and onions with two kinds of cheese on top." Dean said, putting the egg mixture on plates and adding cheddar and mozzarella cheese.

"Save a little for Fim."

"The monster does not…" Dean looked at Sam with a frown, Sam was looking back at him. "Okay, fine." Dean put a little on a saucer and started to put it on the floor. "I suppose you expect it to eat with us?"

"He'll just jump up anyway."

"Whatever." Dean put the saucer on the table and picked the kitten up. It settled in front of its food with a happy purr. Sam laughed a little. Dean smiled. _The monster was a good idea. _"I thought we'd go to the park today, Sammy."

"It would be nice to get out."

"And we have to protect people from the coots, who knows what might happen now that they have the taste for muffins."

"Yeah, we have to protect people from the coots, Dean. Sure." Sam was still smiling. Dean was trying not to smile too much. Sam was managing his food pretty well and he seemed to be eating with an appetite as well. "I like it there," Sam said softly.

"I thought you would. As soon as the IV is done we'll head out."

"Yeah." The bleak look reappeared on Sam's face. Dean kicked himself. _I shouldn't have mentioned the IV, one step forward, twenty-seven back. Good job. _

By the time they reached the park, Dean was a nervous wreck. His resolve was quickly wearing out. In the light of day, his plan didn't seem that great, and he was terrified about what it would do to Sam. _Still I have to try. I have to show him. _Dean helped Sam into the wheelchair and started around the lake, hoping his nerves weren't showing through his chatter. Once or twice he heard Sam sigh and toned down a little, but the nerves catapulted him right back within a few minutes.

Finally, the bench was in view. Dean's heart was slamming against his chest by then, and his hands had started shaking. He stopped the chair close to the bench, locked the wheels and took a deep breath to steady himself, then lifted Sam up. "Lean on me for a sec, Sammy," he said gently, hoping his brother would forgive him for this betrayal sometime. Dean maneuvered the chair forward, making sure it was directly in front of Sam. "Put your hands on here." Dean guided Sam's hands to the handles on the back of the chair. Once he was sure Sam was steady, he sat down in the chair and unlocked the wheels, keeping his foot down so the chair wouldn't move until he wanted it to.

"What's going on?" Sam demanded.

"The PT told me you were afraid to try the walker, that you were worried it would go out from under you, the chair's not going to go anywhere you don't want it to if I'm sitting in it."

"What?" It was a harsh whisper.

"It's two steps to the bench, Sammy."

"I can't walk."

"Yeah, you can."

"I can barely stand."

"And today you're going to take two steps."

"I can't do it." Sam's voice was increasing in volume.

"Yes, you can. And you will."

"I'll stand here until I fall down."

"Then you'll lay there until you drag your sorry ass up and try again." Dean ground his teeth together, resisting the urge to get up and help his brother to the bench.

"You're a fucking asshole."

"I know."

"I hate you."

"I figured."

"I can't do this."

"Yes, you can, time's awastin'."

"I'll kill myself."

"Yep."

"I'm going to fall."

"Then fall to the side, so you don't land on me." Dean was trying to keep his voice steady, the despair in Sam's voice was reducing his resolve to nothing very quickly.

"I hate you."

"You said that."

"I can't."

"You can."

"I won't."

"I can sit here all day, Sammy."

"Go to hell, Dean."

"For this? Probably." Dean could feel the entire chair trembling with the effort Sam was using to stay upright. He wondered if Sam realized he'd been standing for more than a minute.

"You're an asshole."

"You covered that, too."

"I can't," Sam sobbed.

"Yeah, you can, Sammy, just two little steps. Please." Dean whispered the last word.

Sam's breathing was ragged, and for a moment Dean thought he'd say something else. But nothing came. The chair was trembling violently. He was just getting ready to stop it all when he felt Sam's weight against the chair shift. Dean prepared himself to catch Sam as he fell. The weight, however, leaned against the chair. Dean eased his foot up, so he could help Sam move the chair. It slid forward a tiny bit. _Come on, Sammy. _Dean had his hands clenched so tight his nails were cutting into his palms. Dean heard Sam's foot drag against the ground. The chair moved a little more. Sam paused. Dean was ready to get up and help Sam to the bench when the chair inched forward again. Sam's breathing was hitching in pain and the drag of the second foot was agonizingly slow. Sam suddenly dropped onto the bench with enough force that Dean was sure he'd broken his tailbone.

Sam dropped his head into his hands, his whole body shaking. Dean could hear Sam's sobs, even over the frantic pounding of his own heart. He got out of the chair and crouched down in front of his brother. "Sammy?" No answer. Dean patted Sam's knee. "Sammy? Hey, I'm sorry." Still no answer. "Did I hurt you? Sam?" Dean asked desperately. He got up and sat beside Sam on the bench, trying to lift his brother's head. "Sam?"

"I did it," Sam whispered.

"What?" Dean swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.

"I did it." Sam looked up at him, his face streaked with tears.

"Yeah, you did." Dean put his arm over Sam's shoulders and his brother collapsed against him, twisting his right hand into Dean's shirt. "You did it." Sam stayed where he was, trembling as he leaned against Dean.

"It hurts, Dean," he said quietly a minute later.

"I bet." Dean eased Sam up. He grabbed the blanket from the chair and put it over Sam before pulling the syringe out of his pocket. "Alan said I should bring some of the heavy hitters, just in case." He gave Sam the dose and watched as the tremors slowly eased and Sam relaxed against the bench.

"That's better," Sam sighed.

"I'm sorry, Sammy, but I had to show you."

"Show me what?"

"That you could. I had to let you know how far you've come before I told you."

"Before you told me what?"

"How bad it was, Sam. How bad you were."

"What are you talking about?" Sam looked at him with a puzzled frown on his face. "They told me."

"Oh, no they didn't. They didn't. The thought it was better if you didn't know."

"Dean? How bad was I?"

Dean shifted closer to Sam, needing the contact, needing the knowledge that Sam was there beside him to have this conversation. "Oh god, Sam. It was bad—worse than bad."

**Some Weeks Earlier**

Dean was pacing the hallway outside of the operating room. It was beginning to feel a little too familiar. He knew the nurses, he knew the orderlies, he knew who wandered down the hall and when, he'd memorized the magazines and adjusted the pictures on the wall. One day, in desperation for something to do, he'd even carried the coffeepot down the hall and scrubbed it out. Dean honestly doubted Sam had had a thousand surgeries, even though it felt like that.

"Coffee?"

Dean turned to the speaker, it was Jessie Mondragon, Nate and Nancy's eldest son. "Thanks," Dean said, taking the cup. "I need it."

"How long has it been?"

"Too damn long," Dean growled taking a sip.

"Mom wanted to know if you were coming to dinner."

"I need to stay with Sam, Jessie."

"I know, she knows, too, but she'll keep asking…"

"And after I say no, show up with a basket of food?" Dean chuckled. "I'm going to get fat. Sam won't recognize me when he wakes up." He stopped and clenched his hand around the cup—the plastic lid popped off.

"He'll wake up, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean said, distracted, the surgeon was coming through the doors. "Doctor?"

"He came through, we'll have him back in his room in a little while."

"Thank you," Dean breathed a sigh of relief. "How is he?"

"I'm sure Dr. Edwards will talk to you about that," he smiled at Dean and walked down the hall.

"How many doctors does Sam have?" Jessie asked as they walked towards the elevators.

"A million, I think. What?" Dean looked over Jessie, the young man was trying to hide a smile. "What?"

"You don't think that has anything to do with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing," Jessie chuckled. "Sam won't be back for awhile, let's walk outside."

"Sure." Escaping the hospital now and then kept Dean's nerves from fraying all the way. He rarely left, only when Sam was in transit. He always let the floor nurse know where he was going, so they could find him if they needed to. They walked around the building several times, stopping to admire several cars along the way. Jessie shared Dean's appreciation for the classics and several hospital staff members owned Sixties cars.

Sam was in the room when Dean got back. He sank down in the chair beside his brother and put his hand on Sam's arm. "Hey, Sammy, I'm back. You came through surgery just fine and they said you'll be up and around in no time." He wondered if his brother knew he was lying.

"Dean?" Nate asked from the door.

"Come in." Dean smiled at the older man.

"How's he doing?"

"I don't know, I'm waiting for Edwards to come in and tell me."

"Good," Nate said, sitting down beside Dean.

"Good?"

"Good, I made it before he came in." Nate patted his back. "You need to sleep sometime."

"I sleep in the chair."

"Dean…"

"No, until he wakes up, I'm not leaving. I promised he'd never be alone in the hospital."

"I know, but I think we…" He trailed off. Sam's doctor stood in the door.

"How's my brother?" Dean asked, standing.

"We need to speak with you about that," Dr. Edwards said as he approached Dean.

"We do, eh?" Dean sometimes wondered if the doctor had an invisible friend with him. The first few times he said "we", Dean had actually looked around expecting someone to appear. Now he knew the doctor spoke of himself as "we".

"Sam's surgeon spoke with me and we think it prudent to discuss his condition."

"Yeah?" Dean said, trying to stay calm, Nate put a hand on his shoulder. "How's he doing?"

"As you know, and we have already discussed, there is a high likelihood of brain damage. At this point, we believe he will remain in a vegetative state."

"What?" Dean asked grinding his teeth together. Nate's hand tightened. Dean took a deep breath. "But when he wakes up?"

"We don't believe he will."

"Humor me," Dean growled.

"There's no point, we believe it's best that Sam is removed to a long-term…"

Dean wasn't sure what happened. One minute the doctor was standing there with a smug look on his face, the next he was on the floor and Dean's right hand was aching. He looked at Nate in surprise. "Did I hit him?"

"Yeah, you were a little too fast for me to stop you."

"Sorry," Dean said to Nate.

"This is the last insult." The doctor dragged himself off the floor. "I'll have you arrested for assault."

"What assault?" Nate asked innocently. "I was here. You slipped on the spill when you went to examine Sam," he said, pouring coffee on the floor.

"I won't tolerate this. I'm having myself removed as Sam's physician."

"Good call," Dean said, turning his back on the doctor and walking to Sam. He waited until he heard the doctor stomp out before he turned to Nate. "Thanks."

"Glad I was here, after last time, we thought it would be a good idea for you to have a chaperone at all times when dealing with the medical staff."

"Thanks, again, I think." Dean smiled at him. "I wonder who they'll send next?" He sat down and leaned back. Nate sat beside him and flipped on the TV.

Nate left at the end of visiting hours. No new doctor had appeared, so Dean pestered the nurses for awhile before settling down to doze. He never really slept, just dozed, listening for the nurses, or more importantly, for Sam to stir. The nurses knew, now, to let him know how Sam was doing when they checked on him. Dean always hoped there would be a change—and there never was.

"Excuse me?" a quiet voice woke Dean, he opened an eye. A tall man in a white coat was standing in front of him. The room smelled like coffee and there was sun against the curtains. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" He opened the other eye and sat up.

"I'm Alan Carver, I've been assigned to Sam's case."

"You're his new doctor?"

"Yes," he said smiling. "There's a note in the chart that says 'family member is overprotective.' I take it that's you?"

"I just want what's best for Sam," Dean said defensively.

"As do I. I've reviewed the notes and would like to speak with you, if that's okay?"

"Sure."

"I believe Dr. Edwards spoke with you about possible brain damage."

"Yes," Dean said flatly.

"And the likelihood of…"

"Yes," he growled.

"Okay." The doctor turned the chair beside Dean around, and sat down. "Let's talk about what happens if Sam wakes up."

"When," Dean corrected.

"Sure, _when _he wakes up." The doctor opened the file folder he was holding. "Has anyone spoken to you about this?"

"Mostly they've told me Sam is dead."

"Ah, that would explain the overprotective part." He sighed. "I've spoken with Sam's surgeon and some of the other doctors that have been on the case. Here's the general consensus. If…"

"When."

"When he wakes up… In addition to the brain damage, we expect partial loss of use for his right hand and arm, total for the left."

"Yeah?" Dean said, trying to stop the shaking of his hands and the sudden nausea growing in the pit of his stomach. "And?"

"He won't walk again."

"He…won't…" Dean swallowed, feeling tears sting in his eyes and burn their way down his face.

"I know they spoke with you about moving Sam to a long-term care facility. I think we'll hold off on that for now, but we will need to talk about it again."

"You're sure?" Dean asked.

"Sure?"

"About Sam?"

"Nothing's for sure, Dean, but yes, we're pretty sure. I'm sorry." He stood. "I'll be back this afternoon to check on Sam."

Dean nodded, too numb to do anything else. Tears were coursing down his cheeks, it was hard to breath. He put his hand on Sam's left arm, trying not to imagine it hanging limp at Sam's side. "Oh, god, Sammy," he whispered. "They're wrong. You hear me, Sammy?" He couldn't say anymore. "I need some coffee, I'm just going down to the espresso stand, I'll be back in five minutes." He walked quickly out of the room and to the entrance to the stairs. Dean managed to get the door closed before his knees gave way. He dropped onto the stairwell and put his head in his hands, closer to complete despair than he had ever been.

**Present**

"I was… It was…" Sam said, pulling Dean away from the memory.

The coots had gathered around their feet as Dean spoke. He watched them as the day slowly came back into focus. Sam was leaning heavily against him. "You were that bad, Sammy. I thought I was going to lose you for a long time."

"Dean…"

"Please don't give up now."

"What?"

"I have to ask, Sam. Yesterday in the hot tub?"

"I was trying to do therapy."

"Sam?" Dean shifted so he could look at his brother."Did you try to kill yourself?"

"No, I was…" Sam trailed off, Dean watched the emotions move across Sam's face. His brother swallowed hard several times, then tears were suddenly in his eyes. He dropped his head. "I think I did."

"Sammy?" Dean lifted Sam's head so he could look him in the eyes.

"I… I think I did, Dean. I wanted to know if I could, if I had the courage. I think I convinced myself it was something else…but… Yeah."

"I want you to make me a promise."

"What?" Sam frowned through the tears.

"Promise."

"Not until you tell me."

Dean sighed, he expected this, he hoped Sam would just promise, the fact that he didn't let Dean know just how deep the depression had pulled his brother. "I want you to promise me that you won't try to kill yourself…"

"Dean."

"Let me finish, Sammy," Dean said gently. "Promise me you won't do it when I'm not there."

"What?"

"I can't stand the thought of you dying alone, hurt…" Dean swallowed his own tears. "If you have to, let me be there."

Sam looked at him for a long time. "You mean it, don't you?" Dean nodded, he did mean it—he also had no intention of letting his brother go through with it, but he wanted Sam to have a little control over his life. "Okay, Dean, I promise," Sam finally said.

"Thank you." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "But look how far you've come," he said, forcing a smile.

"Dean… I still… I can't…"

"Give it a little longer, Sam, please?"

"A little longer, Dean," Sam sighed sadly. "Maybe we should head home. Fim will be missing us."

"Sure, Sammy, want to stop and get something to eat on the way?" Dean asked again, figuring Sam would want to just go home.

Sam hesitated. "Could we get take out?" he asked with a small smile.

Dean tried to still the happy leap of his heart, it wasn't much but it was something. He looked away from the bleak look in his brother's eyes and focused on the smile instead. "Sure, let's get something with lots of chiles and let the monster try it."

Sam was laughing softly as Dean helped him into the wheelchair. There were still tears in Sam's eyes as Dean pushed him around the lake, Dean felt answering ones in his own.

_Please, Sam, give it a little longer._

_**To Be Continued**_


	9. Awakenings

**Gifts**

**Chapter Nine**

**Awakenings**

The warmth of the heater in the chair was helping ease the pain running through his body. Sam didn't want to ask for more pain meds, Dean felt guilty enough about what he'd done. Sam could tell by his brother's body posture, the way he asked what Sam wanted at the Chinese place, the way he was moving nearly silently through the house, so he wouldn't wake Sam. The problem was, the pain was reaching the point where he couldn't take it any longer. Involuntary tears had begun running from his eyes and he was longing for the morphine drip he'd had at the hospital. His head was pounding in reaction to his teeth grinding together and he was beginning to shake, a nearly inaudible sound escaping his lips. _Oh god, it hurts. _

A cool cloth was placed on his head and the blanket on his left shoulder was pulled down, his sleeve was pulled up and a moment later the warm rush of painkillers slid up his arm. He wondered if he should open his eyes—Dean obviously knew he wasn't asleep, but his brother patted his chest and moved away, somehow sensing Sam still needed a moment. Sam lay listening to the comforting sounds of Dean moving around the apartment. He'd never really realized it, but those sounds, more than anything, meant "home" to him. No matter where he was, or what had happened, that quiet movement, Dean's presence, his soft humming always meant Sam was safe.

_It was one of the worst summers he could remember. It had been okay, until he'd gotten a rusty nail through his foot and blood poisoning had set in so quickly Bobby had no idea what to do. Sam had been staying with the older hunter while his father and Dean hunted a skinwalker in Eastern Montana. Sam had the chance to go to an academic camp and had won a scholarship, so he'd gone—then come to stay with Bobby at the end of the two-week session. Three days after arriving, Sam stepped on the nail. _

_The fever set in later in the day, dark streaks running up his leg by dinner. Bobby was calling a doctor he knew who made house calls at eight. Sam was delirious by ten. He knew he was asking for Dean, knew Bobby was trying to comfort him, but nothing made sense. The room was full of shifting shadows, monsters and ghosts. He could hear someone screaming now and then—sometimes it sounded like his own voice he was hearing. Finally, sometime in the deep, dark of early morning, he dropped into something that felt like sleep, although the voices he heard—Bobby's and another—sounded worried. _

_How long he hovered there, he had no idea. His body ached, there was a throbbing pain in his foot, nothing he heard made sense. He knew Bobby was there, and the doctor, all hushed voices and loud footsteps. It was around then the monsters started telling Sam that he was going to die. He was starting to believe them, letting himself slide deeper and deeper away._

_Sam had given up and was waiting for the monsters to take him, when he heard a quiet sound. He heard it over the pounding rush of blood in his ears, over the muttering of the monsters. Someone was humming. Sam focused on the sound, and heard others. Soft footsteps, a familiar sigh. A moment later a cool, callused hand was place on his forehead. _

"_Too hot, Sammy, we need to fix that," Dean said quietly. Sam heard him move away, then a cold cloth was placed on his head. "You've had enough sleep, lazy ass, time to get up." Dean started humming again, talking now and then, moving around the room. Comforted by the sounds of "home", knowing Dean had his back, Sam told the monsters to screw off and slept. When he woke, his fever was down. _

"Oh, hell no!" Dean's voice broke into the memory. "NO!" Sam could hear something in the kitchen. Dean and a funny little chirping noise. "I said no! Cats do not belong on the counter or the table. No!" Sam grinned inwardly at the offended tone in his brother's voice. "No! You freaking monster, that's mine! Come back here!"

A second later, Sam felt the kitten crawl up the chair. He opened his eyes, Fim was perched on his chest with a slice of roast beef in his mouth. "Bad cat," Sam said, chuckling. The desperate pain had backed off and his hand wasn't shaking as he patted the kitten. "Bad cat," he said again, petting it as it devoured its kill. He blinked, trying to focus a little better, the pain meds were making everything fuzzy around the edges.

"Don't encourage that beast," Dean growled from the kitchen. "He just gutted my sandwich."

"He needs to learn to hunt."

"Not roast beef. Roast beef is not prey."

"How do you know?" Sam was still chuckling.

"There are no herds of roast beef wandering the wild. It's not prey."

"There are no herds of cat chow, either," Sam said reasonably.

"Don't pull the Sammy logic on me."

"Right. What are you doing?"

"Making a sandwich, if that monster stays away."

"Didn't we just eat take out?" Sam shifted so he could watch his brother. The kitten leaped off the chair and made a beeline for the kitchen. It crawled up Dean, jumped on the table, grabbed a piece of meat and took off again. Dean gave chase and the kitten dove under Sam's chair—he could hear it growling from underneath the seat. "Dean…"

"Don't you dare laugh, Sammy." Dean frowned at him, his mouth twitching. "Just don't."

The kitten, sensing the chase was over, crawled up the chair and dropped the piece of meat on Sam's chest. "Is that for me?" Sam asked Fim. "Thank you."

"Argh." Dean threw his hands in the air and stalked into the kitchen. Sam heard him chuckling as he made his sandwich. "Do you want to split a coke, Sam?"

"Thanks."

Dean brought a glass of soda and put it on the tray. "Not cat food," he said as the kitten stuck its head in the glass, then pulled back with a little sneeze. "See? Told ya." Dean was quiet for a minute. "How are you?" he said softly.

"I'm okay."

"Sam…" Dean sighed, swallowed and shook his head. "It's okay to ask for something if you need it."

"I know," Sam said quietly, remembering the first time Dean had told him that.

"Then why…?" Dean's voice held and interesting combination of anger and something that sounded almost like despair.

"Why what?" Sam frowned, wondering what Dean meant, then it came to him. "Oh." _So, do I lie or tell him the truth? _Sam floated for a minute trying to decide. _Too many meds in me to manage a convincing lie. _"I'm tired of asking, Dean."

"Oh, god, Sammy, I try and stay on top of it… I…" Dean stopped when Sam put his right hand on Dean's arm, and gave it a squeeze before letting go.

"That's not what I meant." Sam took a deep breath. "I'm just so tired of hurting, of the pain never ending…" Sam stopped, feeling the burn of tears in his eyes. "I want it to end, sometimes I want it to end so bad…"

"Sammy," Dean said gently.

"I promised, Dean, not alone." Sam looked at his brother. Despair, pain and guilt were written on every inch of Dean's body, despite the half smile on his face. He wondered if Dean had cried, really cried. Alan said they both needed it. The doctor told Sam the day before that he needed to talk to Dean about what had happened, what he remembered from those first days. Alan thought it would help Dean, Sam wasn't sure, but he suddenly felt the need to tell Dean, not even sure what was motivating it. He sighed.

"Sam?"

"I'm okay," he said quickly. "In fact, I'm not feeling much at all. Dean, when I first woke up…" He paused. _Is this the right thing to do? _"I didn't want to."

"What?"

"Wake up."

"Sam," it was a sad sigh.

"I'm sorry, Dean, I didn't. It was just too much."

"Sammy," Dean whispered, the desperation in his voice nearly killed Sam.

"But then…" Sam took a deep breath.

**Some Weeks Earlier**

Sam was sure he'd died—died and gone to some hell where the torment was a combination of nothingness and horrific pain. He couldn't move, couldn't feel his body, but still there was the terrible pain. And there didn't seem to be anything in between—just blankness or unmoving pain. Once the agony came with noise, and a deeper nothingness that lasted longer, or it felt like it lasted longer. The pain came back, coursing through his body, throbbing in time with his heart. Sometimes he screamed for it to end, to let it stop, let the pain slip away, but he couldn't hear his voice. He couldn't hear anything—the world was silent, painful and dark.

He was moving from the nothingness into the pain, wondering if Dean had mourned him, wondering if he'd been burned or buried. He knew he couldn't burn Dean, he suspected the same held true for his brother. So, he must be buried somewhere, but where? Beside their mother? Beside Jess? A sound slowly wormed its way into that pain-filled place. At first his heart raced, terrified, it sounded like the snarl of some unearthly beast, something coming to rip him limb from limb, then realization dawned.

It was Dean—snoring.

If Dean was there snoring beside him, then he must not be dead. Relief flooded him, followed quickly by fear. If he wasn't dead, what did the pain mean? Why couldn't he move? Where was he? A vague memory of a bar and a woman floated around inside his head for a minute. Something had happened. Dean had been screaming his name, there was pain there, too, then nothing. _What happened? _ No matter what had happened, one thing was for sure—he wasn't dead—so maybe, to escape the pain, he could just not wake up. Slide away into the nothingness and never return. He floated into the dark.

"I don't know," a soft voice was saying as the pain pushed Sam back into the world again.

"What do you mean?" Dean's voice, exhausted.

"Until he's awake, Dean, there's no way to know."

"Oh," Dean said quietly.

Sam could hear an undercurrent of panic in his brother's voice. He managed to force his eyes open—bright light assaulted his senses, his eyes immediately started leaking tears. He blinked, feeling the water run along his cheek and onto his neck. Dean was standing at the end of the bed, a man in a white coat was there, too. Sam blinked again, already getting tired. Maybe he had time to say goodbye to Dean, maybe…

His brother sighed and turned towards Sam—he recognized the move it was Dean's "quick check" glance. Used when things were mostly okay—or completely hopeless. Sam saw Dean's eyes focus on his—a wide smile broke Dean's face.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, moving to the head of the bed and dropping a gentle hand on Sam's chest. "Hey."

Sam tried to speak, nothing came out. He couldn't even get his mouth to move. Another tear ran over his face. _Let me go. _

"I know, but try, Sam, please." Dean wiped the tears off Sam's face—then brushed them off his own. "I promise things will get better."

He had no idea how Dean would keep that promise. Sam knew something was desperately wrong with him, but, the grief in Dean's voice—the tears on Dean's face, made him want to try.

"Sammy?"

Sam blinked, trying to communicate with Dean. His brother's face was pinched with grief, exhaustion causing dark smudges under his eyes. Sam didn't know if it would ever be better, but for now… He was willing to try.

**Present**

Dean was watching Sam stroking the kitten as he spoke. He'd had no idea Sam had been that aware of pain before he woke up. Alan—and the other doctors—had assured him that Sam was not in pain, as far as they knew. _And they knew jack apparently. _He took a breath, unsure what to say.

"I remember waking up a couple of times, and every time you looked worse," Sam said, looking at him.

"I did not."

"Yeah, Dean, you did."

"I…" Dean paused, wondering if he should tell Sam. It was the one thing Sam had always said he feared more than anything. _But it didn't happen and I need to let Sammy know how far he's come, how much he beat the odds. _"They…"

"What?" Sam was petting the kitten with his left hand. Dean very carefully didn't mention it, he didn't want to distract Sam from the unintentional therapy.

"They told me… Irreparable brain damage… They told me… They…" Dean was trying to get a breath, the panic of those first days after Sam woke up suddenly back fresh. Sam's hand on his arm stopped the flow of words for a moment.

"Dean?"

"They said, they'd said all along, that there would be brain damage. Every time you woke up and didn't say anything, they just gave me another lecture."

"But Alan…"

"Alan didn't know me then, didn't know you." Dean sighed. "I wanted to believe you were in there, Sammy, but I also remembered my promise." He wondered if Alan would approve of this. _Not about Alan, it's about letting Sammy know how far he's come._

**Some Weeks Earlier**

Dean paced down the hallway. His brother had just gone back to sleep and Dean needed to work off a little nervous energy. He was actually considering taking a couple of laps around the parking lot. It was either that or find a nearby bar and start something just to relieve the pounding grief in his body. He wanted to believe Sam was in there somewhere, but every time he woke up, still unable to talk, unable to really focus, a little more of Dean died.

He ran down the stairs and out into the parking lot, setting a bone-jarring pace around the outer edge of the blacktop. The promise he'd made to Sam years before was haunting him. They'd been drunk, a reaction to what had happened earlier in the week. Sam had been hurt while hunting with their father, in agonizing pain, he'd asked Dean to end it for him. If their father couldn't figure it out, he wanted Dean to end it—and Dean had agreed. When Sam came home, they waited for John to leave—and got drunk, trading shot for shot with a bottle of tequila.

"_Dean?" Sam said, his voice slurring a little. "I want to talk to you about something. Wanted to for awhile."_

"_Wha's that?" Dean blinked at Sam. _

"_If something ever happens—and it might, you know—but if something ever happens and my brain is messed up, if I'm not me. I don't want to live that way."_

"_Sammy? But if you're alive," Dean began, suddenly almost sober._

"_If I'm not me, Dean… It's the one thing that scares me more than anything, more than the pain I just faced, more than even death, being damaged like that."_

"_You've got so much brain, Sam, I'm sure that you'd just start using another slice. Assuming it isn't full of something like Latin adverbs."_

_Sam grabbed his shoulders in a painful grip. "I'm serious, Dean. Promise you won't let me live like that."_

"_Sam…"_

"_Dean, please," Sam said desperately. Dean wasn't sure why his brother was so panicked about it, but the fear on Sam's face was too much. "Please. Promise."_

_Dean took a deep breath. "Okay, Sam, I promise—BUT only after I'm absolutely sure." He was pretty sure he'd figure a way out of the promise if it ever came to that, but he also knew that those promises made life a little easier for his brother._

"_Thank you," Sam said, giving him a teary hug. _

"Dean!" a voice called. Dean stopped and looked over at the car that had pulled up beside him. "What are you doing?" Nate asked, leaning over the passenger seat.

"Running," Dean said, breathing heavy.

"Yeah, I noticed, why?"

"Working off a little energy from sitting all the time." Dean walked beside the car as Nate parked.

"I'll let that stand as the reason for now. How's Sam?" he said.

"He was awake again," Dean said, leaning against the hood of Nate's car.

"And?"

"No change. He doesn't talk, he hardly focuses. Dr. Carver is becoming more and more convinced…" Dean swallowed, unable to go on.

"Dean…" Nate stopped and shook his head. "Nancy and I were talking."

"Oh?" Dean looked at the older man.

"You need to rest, you need someplace to stay other than that seedy motel."

"I'm mostly staying here," Dean said with a sigh.

"We know, but Nancy wants you to move into the spare room until Sam is ready to come home."

"No, Nate I appreciate the offer but…"

"Actually," Nate said with a sheepish grin, "you don't really have any choice. Once Nancy's mind is made up, she's like a runaway semi—no force in nature can stop her."

"Really, I appreciate…"

"She already moved you in. Checked you out of the motel about two hours ago."

"She what?"

"Her cousin knows the guy who owns the place." Nate shrugged. "I think I warned you a couple of days ago…"

"Yeah, you did." Dean smiled, annoyance mixed with relief.

"At least that way she can be sure you're eating right, and when you do come home, we'll make sure someone is always here with Sam."

"Thanks," Dean said, not sure he was willing to fight to stay in the crappy motel. Knowing he had a clean bed, and more importantly a clean shower, when he left the hospital was almost intoxicating. He scrubbed his hands over his face. "I'm going to get a cup of coffee and go back up." Dean pushed himself off the car.

"I'll come with you. I'm on duty until Jessie gets out of class in three hours."

"I like Carver, I'm not going to punch him, Nate."

"I know, but there's the neurologist, the surgeon, that one nurse…"

"The nurse is barely five feet tall, I won't punch her." Dean stopped at the espresso stand and ordered them both coffees. Nate paid for them before Dean could get the money out of his pocket. "Nate…"

"Don't worry about it. I have a plan for when Sam's a little better."

"What's that?"

"You'll need a job, and I need a mechanic." Nate smiled. "It's getting hard to find people to work on cars that you can't just hook up to a computer to tell you what's wrong with them. The last kid I hired had no idea what to do when a guy brought in his GTO."

Dean stopped and looked at Nate. "Seriously?"

"He had no clue," Nate said with a smile. "And yes, the job is there for you when you're ready, I can't handle all the classics myself, and even with Jessie's help, we're buried."

"Nate…" Dean was at a loss for words.

"Don't mention it." Nate slapped him on the back.

Dean paused for a minute before walking into Sam's room. Part of him was digesting the offer from Nate, the other dreading going in. It was getting increasingly difficult to be there, knowing Sam might never be Sam again. He sighed and walked into the room.

"He's awake," the nurse said as Dean entered.

"Why didn't someone page me?" Dean demanded, walking quickly to the bed. "Hey, Sammy." His brother's eyes tracked over to him, not focused, really. He picked up Sam's right hand, it hung limp in his. Sam blinked. "Do you know me?" Dean asked for what felt like the millionth time, every time Sam woke up they went through this. Sam's head twitched. Dean hoped it was a nod, the doctor said it was an involuntary movement. "Can you say my name?" Dean asked, surprised at the emotion in his voice. Sam blinked again, his head twitched and he closed his eyes. "Ah, Sam," Dean whispered, his heart sinking.

Dean put his coffee on the tray and sat down, dropping his head into his hands, trying to keep control of his emotions. He felt Nate's hand on his shoulder. The tears were trapped behind his eyes, making his head pound. Every time Sam woke up, it seemed worse, the diagnosis confirmed again and again. _What do I do, Sam? _ He sighed, then reached for the remote. "Want to watch a little TV?"

Four hours later, Sam's doctor came in for evening rounds. The guard had changed, Nate left to check on the shop and Jessie came brining Dean a bag of food. Jessie left the room when the doctor came in, since it was Carver he told Dean he was sure there would be no violence. Dean laughed and flipped him off as he left.

"He was awake twice so far today," Dean said, watching the doctor as he ran through the tests he performed on Sam every time he came in.

"The nurse told me, still no response?"

"Yeah." Dean stood beside the bed as the doctor finished. "Doctor, will Sam…" He stopped when he realized Sam's eyes were open. "Hey, Sammy," he said, picking up his brother's right hand. Carver stood on the other side of the bed, watching Sam. Dean wished the doctor would leave. He didn't want to hear the "brain damage" lecture twice in one day. Sam blinked. "Do you know me?" The twitch. "Can you say my name?" Sam blinked again.

"Dean," Dr Carver began.

"Give me a minute," Dean snapped. "Sam?" The hand in his moved infinitesimally. "Sammy? Do you know me? My name?"

Sam blinked, took a breath. "Dee… Dean," he said on the exhale.

"Sammy?" Dean tried to stop the frantic pounding of his heart. "Do you know who I am?"

Sam frowned in confusion. "Dean."

"No, Sammy, who I am to you. That sounded gay, I don't mean that, I mean do you know…" Dean stopped, he was babbling and Sam was looking more and more distressed. "Do you know who I am?"

Sam frowned again, his hand tightened a little more, he took a breath. "Dean," he said on the exhale. Dean's heart fell. Sam took another breath. "J…Je… Jerk."

"What?" Dean said, the tears behind his eyes breaking free.

"Jerk."

"Dean, he's not…" Carver said.

"Yes, he is," Dean said, trying to keep it together.

"Ask him about his pain, then."

Sam's eyes had moved to the doctor, then back to Dean. "Well, Sam? On a scale of one to ten, you know the drill."

Blink, a deep breath. "T…T…"

"Ten, Sam?" Dean asked softly.

"Twe…nty." Sam swallowed.

"Do his legs hurt?" Carver asked, walking to the locked cabinet in the corner of the room.

"Sammy?" Dean said, hoping against hope. It took Sam a long time to reply, Dean watched as his brother struggled to get the words out. "Can we give him something more for the pain?"

"As soon as he answers."

_Maybe Jessie should have stayed, I feel a punch coming on. _"Sam? Your legs? Do they hurt?"

"No," Sam finally said. "Back." Breath. "Chest." Breath. "Arm."

"Okay," the doctor said. "Let's get you something for the pain." He pushed the meds into the port on the IV.

Sam sighed, the tightness around his mouth relaxing a little. "Lap…"

"Lap?" Dean asked. "Oh, you want your laptop?" Sam blinked. "Maybe not a good idea, yet, Sammy."

"Kay."

"Later, and I'll bring that book you were reading on mummies."

"Thanks." Sam blinked again, each time it took a little longer for him to open his eyes again.

"Is the pain better, Sammy?"

"It…Sam…" he said.

"Yeah, Bitch." Dean tried for a chuckle. Breaking down in front of Sam probably wasn't a good idea. "Sleep, I'll be here."

"Kay. Je….rk." Sam closed his eyes with a sigh.

"He's okay," Dean said, looking up at Dr. Carver through the tears nearly blinding him.

"He didn't know you were his brother. He called you a jerk."

"He knows, long story, but he knows. Trust me." Dean took a shaky breath. "He's okay."

"We'll have to run a few tests, but even if the brain damage is minimal, he can't feel his legs. There is no response in his left arm…"

"You were wrong about the brain damage. You're wrong about the rest. Sam'll get better," Dean said firmly, willing himself to believe it. "You hear that, Sammy?" Dean squeezed Sam's hand, the first real hope he had in a very long time warring with the truth of the doctor's words. He tried to breathe around the ache in his chest, the huge lump in his throat. _Sam's still Sammy, it's okay, we'll get through the rest. _

"You'll be okay, Sam, just give it a little time, please."

_Please, Sammy, please. _

_**To Be Continued**_


	10. Fetching

_A/N: I'm sorry this update has taken longer than usual. I'm a little annoyed I let things get under my skin the way they did, but I am getting back up on the horsie and here's a little chapter. Scopulus (my cliffie demon, for those of you who haven't met him yet) insisted this was the place to end it. There's a little surprise in this chapter! Thank you everyone for reviews and support, it means a lot and I dedicate this chapter to all of you! I will reply to all of you! Promise! Huge hug!_

**Gifts**

**Chapter Ten**

**Fetching**

_Sam was falling, Dean screaming his name. He raced through the bar, desperately trying to reach his brother, it was crowded but for Dean it was silent, crystalline, just Sam, falling. A sound worked its way into the bar as Dean dropped beside his brother—a scratching noise, then a rattle followed by _thump. _He was yelling for someone to call 911 and the sounds came again, this time accompanied by a soft chuckle. _

Dean opened his eye and blinked at the sunlight pouring through the window. _Scratch, scratch, rattle, thump. _Sam's soft chuckle. Dean rolled over and looked at his brother, Sam had a smile on his face. A moment later the scratching noise, this time Dean managed to identify it. Fim climbing the bed. The kitten crawled onto the bed, a blue and pink ball in his mouth. He raced up the bed and dropped it on Sam, pawing at his face after he did. Sam picked up the ball in his left hand, rattled it and tossed it off the end of the bed. The kitten flew off—looking a lot like a flying squirrel leaping between trees. Sam chuckled as the kitten reappeared an instant later, the ball in his mouth again.

Dean watched as his brother tossed the ball, he wondered if his brother realized that he was throwing it with his left hand. Dean sighed silently, it had been a long night. Even though Sam had taken the few steps at the park, he'd been depressed as the evening wore on. Before dinner, Sam had taken a nap—only to wake up screaming, reliving those moments in the bar again. And it had been downhill after that. _Be honest it was going okay until the shower. _

Sam had fallen.

Dean was in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner, watching the kitten try to consume an entire piece of left over roast beef, when he heard a _thud. _Something about the sound had him moving through the house at high speed, trying to push the panic away, trying not to scream Sam's name. When he wrenched the shower door open his heart nearly stopped. Sam was on the floor, trying to reach for the stool, blood on his head from a cut on his temple. Dean turned off the shower, dried Sam off, helped him to bed and called Alan. The doctor came and checked on Sam, assuring Dean no harm had been done. Dean wasn't so sure.

Sam had been silent after Alan left, staring listlessly at the TV, then taking his medication without comment. Fim had curled up on Sam's chest, but he made no attempt to pet the kitten. He just lay in bed until sleep finally overcame him. Dean watched the whole time, wanting to say something, but deciding to let it go this time. He'd bullied Sam enough, and Dean let him go to sleep in peace, kicking himself the whole time for not being there.

"What did you do? Did you drop it in the water?" Sam said quietly, pulling Dean from the memory. Sam tossed the ball and the kitten leaped after it.

"Sam?"

"Hey, Dean," Sam said, looking over. "Fim fetches."

"He what?" Dean sat up.

"Fetches." Sam smiled as the kitten crawled back up in the bed with the ball in his mouth.

"How did you teach him that?"

"He just started, he was playing on the bed and accidently scratched me." Sam frowned. "I reacted without thinking and threw the ball away. He was back a second later with it. We've been playing for awhile now."

"Never heard of a cat that fetched," Dean said. Fim looked over, noticed Dean was up and made the jump, managing to almost make it. He had to lock his claws in Dean's leg to stop sliding off the bed. "You freaking monster." He grabbed the kitten by the scruff of the neck and dropped it on the bed. It immediately started chewing on the blanket. "Freaking…" He stopped, Sam was grinning at him, Dean grinned back. He purposefully looked away from the sadness in his brother's eyes. "I have to go in to work today, Sammy."

"Oh." The smile dropped away.

"Sam?" Dean frowned, wondering what was wrong. "You're coming with me, don't think you get to spend the day at home encouraging that beast."

"I'm coming with you?" Sam asked, tears in his eyes.

_Ah, Sammy. _"Yep, time for you to get out again," Dean said, standing up. "I'll go get breakfast started, then we can do your meds while we eat."

"Okay."

Dean scooped up the kitten and put it gently on Sam's chest before heading into the kitchen. _I hope it set right. _He opened the fridge and pulled out the bread pan and poked at the yellow mass.

_It was the summer when he was fifteen. They'd been out on a hunt and were staying with Jim Murphy while their father recovered from an injury inflicted by a very angry spirit. Dean took turns sitting with his father and watching out for his brother. He and Sam had been scouting through the kitchen, looking for something to eat, when he'd discovered a pan in the fridge that looked like congealed cornbread. _

"_Eww, gross." Sam made a face._

"_What's this Pastor Jim?" Dean asked._

"_That? Cornmeal mush. I was going to fry it for breakfast."_

"_It's what?" Dean poked at it. "Doesn't look good."_

"_Nope," Sam agreed, nodding his head vigorously._

"_Trust me," Pastor Jim said gently as he tipped the mush out of the pan and sliced it up. "Get that skillet hot for me, Dean." _

"_Okay," Dean said dubiously, watching as the older man coated the slices in cornmeal, then dropped them in the pan. "Huh, smells pretty good."_

"_Yeah, it does," Sam said, approaching the stove. "Really good."_

"_Get the maple syrup and butter out and set the table, Samuel," Pastor Jim said, flipping the slices in the pan. Sam did as he was told and a few minutes later the three of them sat down to eat. Dean watched his brother take a cautious bite, a slow smile spreading on his face. "This is totally awesome!" Sam said enthusiastically. "We are eating this every day forever."_

"_Sure, Sammy," Dean said, smiling at his brother. _

Dean finished slicing the mush, coated it and put it in the pan to fry. While the first batch was cooking, he brought Sam into the kitchen and hooked up the IV.

"What's that?" Sam asked, watching Dean get the butter and syrup out.

"Fried mush."

"You made fried mush?" Sam smiled wistfully. "When did you make the mush?"

"Last night—well this morning about three." Dean dished up the food and put a plate in front of Sam. "I thought it'd be good before work."

"Yeah," Sam said softly, the sadness back in his voice.

Dean stared at his plate, wondering what to say, when a now familiar stinging sensation burned its way up his leg. _I wonder how it knows not to climb Sam? _He reached down and removed the kitten from his leg and dropped it on the table. "I suppose it gets mush, too?"

"Of course."

"Of course," Dean muttered as he got a plate ready for the kitten—he'd expected it and set a piece aside to cool when he'd made the first batch. Fim attacked the mush like a lion ripping into a wildebeest. "Freaking monster."

"He likes it," Sam chuckled.

"I need to take a quick shower before we go, Sam, do you want to sit in the recliner?"

"No, I'll stay here."

"Okay." Dean unhooked the IV and headed back to the shower. When he got out, he could hear his brother talking to the kitten, walking into the kitchen he noticed the table was clear, the dishes in the sink. "Sammy?" Dean said, swallowing a lump.

"We're ready to go, Dean, I did my chores." Sam smiled, looking like he had when he was six and was proud of himself for accomplishing a task.

"Good," Dean said, clearing his throat. "If you hadn't, I would have kicked your ass."

They were on the road a few minutes later. Dean stopped by the espresso shop, Pooh had extra muffins ready in case they went to the park later in the day. He glanced over at Sam as they drove through town. His brother was withdrawn, his mouth turned down at the corners. Dean sighed.

Nate was waiting when they pulled into the lot at the shop. He smiled at Sam and had the wheelchair out as soon as Dean popped the trunk. "I'm glad you're here, we're swamped," Nate said as Dean helped Sam into the chair.

"Hi, Sam," Nancy said. "How's the kitten working out?"

"The freaking monster?" Dean growled with a smile. "He fetches."

"Fetches?" Nate asked.

"Yeah, he figured it out this morning," Sam said. "What?"

"What what, Sammy?" Dean said. He'd been waiting for this, another surprise for Sam, he hoped it helped remove the look on his brother's face. He rolled Sam to the office and opened the door, holding his breath.

"What this?" Sam asked as he looked in the door with a frown.

"Your office." Dean wheeled Sam in. "You have a computer, a TV, the bed. And check it out, I put in railings so you can walk around in here." He pointed to the polished wood rails.

"Hey, I helped," Nate said indignantly.

"Yeah, he helped, sorta. He gave lots of directions."

"Thank you," Sam said. Dean watched as his brother looked around the small office. "Thanks," he said again.

"You get settled and then I'll expect you in the shop, Dean." Nate left, closing the door behind him.

"Sam? You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam said quietly. "You did this?"

"Yep. Dean Winchester, handy dude."

"How long have you worked here?"

"Awhile now. I started once you were up a little more."

"You did?"

"Yeah," Dean said gently. "I need to get in and do a little work. Will you be…"

"Can I come out and watch for awhile?" Sam cut him off.

"Yeah." Dean opened the door and pushed the chair out into the shop. He'd actually planned on this too, and had a comfortable chair for Sam to sit in while Dean worked on the cars. He noticed his brother swallow several times after he helped him into the chair and set to footstool in front of it. Dean gathered his tools, opened the hood of the '65 Catalina and started working.

"Lunch time, honey," Nancy's voice interrupted the carb rebuild sometime later.

"Lunch already?" Dean glanced over at Sam—his brother had fallen asleep about an hour before. Dean smiled fondly, remembering how many time his brother had ended up sleeping by the Impala while he worked on it. He wiped his hands on the shop cloth, walked over and gently shook Sam. "Food, Sammy."

"Huh?" Sam asked, blinking.

"Food. Nancy brings lunch for everyone." Dean helped Sam into the wheelchair. "Homemade. Her enchiladas are like…"

"Don't say it." Sam rolled his eyes with a smile.

"But Sammy…"

"Just shut up, Dean," Sam said, nudging him. The action was so familiar, so like his brother before it had all happened, it gave him a moment of hope—until he saw Sam's eyes.

"Right," he said, playing along as he rolled Sam into the lunch room. Nancy and Nate were already sitting at the table. "Be right back, grease and chiles don't go together." Sam was chatting with them when Dean got back, he breathed a sigh of relief. Sam had been so quiet since it had happened, shying away from any and all conversation. His brother was recounting Fim's passion for cornmeal mush when Dean's phone rang. "Alan?" he said, answering it.

"Carrie, Dean, she…" Alan sounded like he was crying.

"Alan?" Dean looked at Nate.

"She, she took a bad turn, I think I'm going to lose her."

"Did you check the amulet? Is she still wearing it?" Dean asked.

There was a pause. "Yes, it's still there. Dean, what do I do?"

"It's not over yet…"

"I think it is." That time Dean heard Alan sob.

"No, we can still figure this out. Maybe…" Dean stopped himself, he'd been about to offer Sam's research skills. "Give me a little more time, and, Alan, come to dinner tonight."

"If I can leave, Dean, I will." Alan broke the connection before Dean could say anything else.

"Dean?" Nate asked, concerned.

"Carrie's worse, Alan thinks she's going to die."

"Oh no!" Nancy exclaimed. "I thought…"

"It was never sure, Nancy," Dean said quietly. "I just hoped…"

"I know, I'll head down there and sit with Alan," she said, getting up and walking out.

"Dean? What's going on? Who's Carrie?" Sam asked. When Dean was silent, he looked at Nancy and Nate then back again. "Dean?"

Dean took a deep breath, he'd been dreading this moment, never sure how to tell Sam. He wondered how his brother would take it. _Maybe it's good we're here with Nate. _"She's the one who shot you, Sammy," Dean said gently.

"What does that have to do with Alan?" Sam frowned at him.

"Carrie is Alan's wife."

_**To Be Continued**_

_A/N II: Show of hands, how many of you thought I'd forgotten the shooter?_


	11. Panic Attacks

_A/N: Sorry this update took awhile. I've been back on bed rest, but I thought I would sneak a little time and get this posted. Thank you everyone for your reviews and support, they mean so much! Thanks to Trasan!_

**Gifts**

**Chapter Eleven**

**Panic Attacks**

It was silent in the room, the only small sound was Sam's harsh breathing. Dean was watching his brother, tears had pooled in Sam's eyes and were threatening to spill over. _Oh, god, I blew it. _He took a deep breath, trying to think of a way to pull his words back, casting a desperate glance at Nate.

"His wife?" Sam whispered, sounding like he was having a hard time breathing.

"Sammy?" Dean squatted down and put his hand on his brother's knee.

"The shooter…" Sam was getting increasingly pale, sweat beading on his forehead. "Alan's…?"

"Sammy?"

"Dean…" Sam was gasping for air, tears leaking down his face, he closed his eyes and reached out blindly for Dean as he started coughing.

"What's going on?" Dean said, the panic that was never far removed slamming back into him. "Sam?"

"I…" Gasp. "Dean…" Sam was coughing harder. "Dean..." Cough, gasp.

In the background, Dean could hear Nate talking to someone, but his whole focus was taken up with his brother. _Is this a panic attack? It looks a little like one, not much though. What's going on? No, Sam, no. _"Sam, talk to me," he said using the firm tone he used to get his brother to listen.

"Hurts…" Sam opened his eyes and met Dean's, trying to get a breath, still coughing. _Oh my god, he's terrified. _"Something's wrong."

"Breathe, Sam, try to take deep breaths."

"Trying… Dean… Hurts…" Sam leaned forward, Dean caught him and wrapped his arms around him. "Trying… Oh... God...."

"Sam?" Dean said, rubbing a slow circle on Sam's back, trying to calm his brother down, hoping it would calm him a little, too. _Because, yeah, freaking here. _

"Sorr… Dean… Sorr…" The coughing stopped abruptly and Sam relaxed, his whole weight falling against Dean and driving them both to the floor.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted, slipping out from under Sam and turning him over. "Oh god, Nate...he's not breathing." Helplessness crashed in on Dean and he was immobile for an instant. "Sammy?" He shook his brother for a second before instinct kicked in. His body moved into action, even as his brain refused to acknowledge what was happening. Dean's whole world narrowed to Sam.

"Dean? The EMTs are here," Nate said from beside him.

"What?" Dean looked up at the older man, not really registering what was going on around him. Nate reached down and drew Dean away as the medics started working on Sam. Dean heard them speaking but they might as well have been speaking Greek. _Or Latin. _"Oh god," Dean whispered as the EMTs rammed a huge needle into Sam's chest. "What's happening?" Dean was trembling. _My fault, oh god, my fault._

"Which hospital?" One of the EMTs was standing in front of Dean—he didn't even register the man's presence all he saw was his brother being loaded on a stretcher. Being wheeled away. "Sir?"

"Valley View," Nate said.

"You sure?" The medic looked surprised.

"Yes, his doctor will meet you there, Alan Carver," Nate continued.

"Carver? Wow. Got it. Valley View!" He shouted and jogged after Sam's stretcher.

"Dean?"

_Is he dying? Sammy, please, no._

"Dean?" Nate shook him that time. Dean focused on the older man. "You with me?"

"Yeah," Dean said, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "Yeah, I need to go." The trembling didn't stop and he was beginning to feel lunch pressing against his throat.

"No." Nate steered him out the door and to the car parked in the driveway. "I'll drive, Jessie's got the shop under control."

Dean dropped into the passenger seat, it was all beginning to feel too familiar. His heart was slamming in his chest as Nate pulled out and followed the ambulance. Dimly, he heard the other man talking to someone on the phone. Dean was trying to bring his breathing under control, he was just managing, keeping his focus on the small smiley face sticker stuck to the dashboard.

"_Dean? Dean what's wrong?" his fourteen-year-old brother asked him._

"_It's okay," Dean said, trying to get a breath, his heart was beating out of control and his ears were buzzing like they had been filled with very angry bees._

"_Dean, come on, tell me."_

_Dean shook his head. _Sam's okay, Sam's okay, _he repeated it over and over in his head, but all he could see was the creature bearing down on his brother, its body still covered in the blood of it's last victims. All he could hear was Sam's shout of surprise and pain when it hit him. The thought that Sam might be infected with the things poison pushed Dean into overdrive. He'd killed the thing and gotten Sam a safe distance away, then..._

"_Dean?" Sam sounded scared. _

"_S'okay," Dean mumbled, trying to get control of his breathing, trying desperately to stop the pain in his chest. He was pretty sure he was having a heart attack._

"_Dean?" Sam's voice sounded like it was coming from a long way away. "Are you...?" he trailed off, a moment later Sam's hands curled around Dean's shoulders. "Open your eyes, Dean, come on. Now, Dean," Sam demanded, sounding a lot like their father._

_Dean opened his eyes, or he thought he did, his vision was narrowed to a tiny slit, the edges sparkling with black glitter._

"_Okay, now, focus on something." One of Sam's hands left his shoulder. He held up a pen. "Focus on this, Dean, okay?" Sam asked, Dean nodded. "Now deep breath, in through the nose out through the mouth, come on Dean, focus on the pen and breathe."_

_A few minutes later, Dean had his breathing steady, the ache in his chest receding as he managed to get control of the panic. "Thanks, Sammy," he said with what he hoped was a grin._

"_Was that a panic attack?"_

"_Nope, creature must've done something when I hit it."_

_Sam frowned, that knowing, irritating frown. "Yeah, right, how long have you had those?"_

"_Told you, it wasn't." Dean smirked, Sam's frown deepened. "First one," he lied easily._

"Dean?" Nate's voice broke into the "in through nose out through mouth" mantra going through Dean's head.

Dean looked up and blinked, his breathing was still off, but it was more under control. They were pulling into the ER valet parking. Before Dean could put his hand on the door to get out, it swung open.

"Dean!" Jerry, the head attendant said as he got out. "What's wrong? I heard Sam went home!"

"Yeah," Dean said. "He did, something happened."

"That ambulance that just arrived? He's already in back if that was him, you know they'll take good care of him!" Jerry gave Dean a slap on the back.

"Yeah," Dean said, barely hearing what had been said. He was moving towards the doors to the emergency room before he was aware his legs were engaged.

The doors _whooshed _open in front of him and he walked in. This ER was so different from the first one, from that first night. The small private hospital was quiet, the waiting room filled with plants and a fish tank large enough to qualify as a zoo aquarium. The waiting room was empty, as usual. Dean got to the front desk and stopped, his brain refusing to even accept why he was here. Luckily, it wasn't needed.

"Dean," Cindy the nurse said. He'd gotten to know her during his hours of pacing through the hospital after Sam had been moved there. "Doctor Carver is already with Sam, you can go back, he's in room nine."

"Thanks," Dean said, turning towards the doors. The ache in his chest was back. _My fault. _

"It's okay, Dean," Nate said from beside him. He put a hand on Dean's back and gently steered him towards the back.

"Okay," Alan was saying as Dean reached the door.

"Alan?" Dean asked, surprised his voice sounded so normal, the pain in his chest was starting to increase again, his breathing getting shallow.

"He's fine, Dean," Alan said calmly.

"Fine? He wasn't breathing," Dean said, his eyes going to the monitors over Sam's head. He'd learned the intricacies of all the lines and numbers, and knew what they all meant.

Sam was okay.

_Sammy's okay, Sammy's okay. Oh, god. _

"...thorax," Alan was saying.

"Huh?" Dean pulled his eyes away from thee monitors and looked at the doctor. _Will this happen again? I did it, oh god. Sammy. He's okay. Breathe, focus. _Dean cast a wild glance around the room and his eyes came to rest on the IV pole beside the bed. He tried to focus on it, but it was just a reminder of that was happening. He closed his eyes. _The bar was smoky and crowded. _"No," Dean whispered out loud.

"It looks bad, and it can be serious, but rescue got there in plenty of time, Dean," Alan said, laying a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"It... He wasn't...." His eyes drifted back to the monitor. _He's okay, I... I... Oh god, Sammy, I'm so sorry. _The pain in his chest was getting worse, feeling a lot like those days after the electrocution. _Bang, bang, bang, bang, _the shots sounded in his head for the thousandth time.Dean took a shaky breath, not sure he could keep it under control. _He's okay, he's okay. _He was repeating it, but each repetition just ramped the pain and panic up another notch. Dean looked at Alan, glanced at Nate, took a deep breath.

And bolted.

He made it to the bathroom at the end of the hall, he closed the door and locked it, still desperately trying to get himself under control. Everything that had happened—that was still happening—was suddenly pressing on him. Even though the fear never fully left him, having Sam at home had blunted the sharp edge and now it was all back. Fear for Sam was becoming panic, his breathing was spiraling out of control, despite his best efforts to slow it. _He's okay, hes okay. Oh god, what if he's not? The infection and Alan said... and I.... _He closed his eyes, hoping that would help, but all he could see was Sam on the floor of the bar—dying—Sam on the floor at Nate's—not breathing, the EMTs working on him. _Oh god, Sammy. _

It was too much, the panic caught him and tore him away in a sea of pain and the buzzing sound that always accompanied the attacks. Dean slid down the wall and put his head on his knees, trying to regain control.

"Dean!" Nate banged on the door.

Dean tried to answer, but he couldn't get the words out. _He's okay, get that through your head. Oh god, is this my fault? I made him walk and he was in so much pain. Oh god, Sammy. My fault. Are you dying because of me? Was Alan lying? No, I saw the monitors, he's okay. But... Oh god... What if... What if..._

"Dean!" Alan must be out there, too.

The buzzing was getting worse and the black glitter was sparkling behind his eyelids. It was the worse attack he'd had in years, maybe since Sam had left for Stanford. _Why didn't this happen before? Oh god, Sammy. I'm sorry. _It seemed like the more he tried to get control, the more panic, terror, fear crept in. The only time it had come close to an attack recently was when Dean found out they'd caught the shooter. _Oh, god, Carrie, what did Alan say? _The pain in his chest was getting worse. He was beginning to think locking himself in the bathroom might not have been a good idea. _Breathe, focus, breathe. Not working. Is it my heart? No, need to stay, have to help Sammy. Oh, god, Sammy. _The scene from the bar started again, overlaid with snatches of memory from the hospital, of Sam on the floor at Nate's, not breathing. _No, need to stay for Sam. Need to focus. Breathe, come on shithead get control, you want Sammy to see you like this? Oh god, Sam. I'm sorry, my fault, Oh god. _

"Dean!" Nate shouted. Dean thought his voice sounded closer than it had before. He tried to focus. _Oh god, Sammy. Are you dying? What if, what if, what if...? _"Whats wrong?"

"Dean? Can you hear me?" Alan's voice was calm.

Dean tried to speak, but he couldn't get enough air to form the words. Something was going on around him, he felt himself shifted, then he was lying down, it was harder to breathe, he struggled to sit up.

"No, Dean." A hand pushed him down. Dean fought against the hand, fought against the panic and that just made it so much worse. It was all so huge. _No, have to stay for Sam, don't let this be my heart. Have to... Breathe shithead, focus, breathe. Oh god, Sammy. What if, no, he was okay, Alan wouldn't lie, not after, oh god. _

Suddenly warmth was spreading through him, and as it spread the panic eased, the pain lessened, it was easier to get air into his lungs.

"That's it, Dean," Alan said gently, "take another deep breath, okay?"

"Breathe," Nate said softly. "Come on."

Dean took a deep breath, aware that time of the medicinal smell, aware of the mask on his face. Another breath and he opened his eyes, staring for a moment at the ceiling of the bathroom. _Huh, are those dark spots blood? How did they get up there? _A deep breath. _I think they gave me something. _He was way too warm for being on the tiled floor, way to comfortable, suddenly way too calm.

"Dean?" Alan said.

"Yeah?" he answered, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask.

"How's your pain level? Is it better?"

"Hmm, yeah." Dean tried to sit up, Nate pushed him down.

"Was this a heart attack?" Nate asked.

"Good question," Dean added. _I hope so, 'cause if not, embarrassing_

"I don't think so, but I want to keep you overnight, to make sure," Alan said with a frown.

"No, Sam can't know. I need to..." Dean tried to push himself up again. "If he wakes up alone, Alan, it might be bad." _Worse than bad. _

"Dean," Nate said quietly, resting his hand on Dean's chest, "if it was your heart, you need to be careful."

"Nate, Alan..." Dean was pleading, his body aching, but the need to get to Sam was making his breath come faster again, in spite of whatever Alan had given him. _Breathe, breathe. _

"When was the last time you slept?" Alan asked.

"The other night, you gave me a pill, remember?"

"And before that?"

"I sleep."

"Lack of sleep and stress probably triggered this, you need to rest."

"Sam..." Dean began, struggling to sit up.

"Sam needs you well." Alan put a restraining hand on Dean. "You can go see Sam, as soon as he's awake, I'm sending him for tests and you are getting admitted overnight. You can stay in Sam's room, we'll tell him it's for him, so you can be there."

"No."

"It's that or I will sedate you right now, simple. I should have said or done something before, Dean. I..." Alan swallowed.

"Fine." Dean sighed. "Can I get off the bathroom floor now?"

"Do we have a deal?" Alan said.

"Dean?" Nate piped up.

"Yeah, fine, whatever. Let me check on Sam."

"Okay," the doctor said cautiously. "Just a minute." He stood and came back a second later with a glass and a foil packet. "Take this, just in case, okay?"

"What is it?"

"Aspirin, in case it was your heart."

"No."

"Standard procedure, Dean, humor me," the doctor said with an easy smile.

"If you let me get up, okay." Dean pulled the oxygen mask off, took the pill and stood, swaying for a moment as the room revolved around him. He walked with as much dignity as he could muster out of the bathroom, ignoring the curious looks the staff cast him.

Sam's eyes were still closed when Dean walked in. He glanced at the monitor. _He's okay. You panicked for nothing, jerk. Why didn't you do this earlier? _He knew the answer. It was starting to feel like everything was going to be okay, then this. And Alan was right, he needed sleep, there was a raw feeling behind his eyes that never left, but he'd been so focused on making Sam's first days at home good, he'd ignored everything else. That was nothing new and he'd paid the price before. He dropped into the chair beside the bed and put his hand on Sam's arm, finding comfort in the contact. Dean knew Nate had come in the room, and he could sense Alan hovering in the hallway, just at the edge of his peripheral vision.

He knew the instant Sam started to come to, his brother's breathing altered, the little hitch of pain that was always there when he was awake replaced the slow, even breaths of sleep. Dean tightened his hand on Sam's arm. "Sammy?"

"Dnnn?" Sam's eyes fluttered, then opened slowly. Tears started leaking down his face on the second blink.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said, standing so Sam could see him without moving his head, in case that might cause him pain.

"Where?"

"ER, Sammy, but you're going to be fine."

"What happened?" Sam asked, his eyes finally focusing on Dean.

"Uh..." What had Alan said? Dean remembered the word thorax, but nothing else. "Thorax thingie?"

"You're asking?" Sam said with a small smile.

"Uh...." Dean smiled. "It was all big words, confused me."

"Yeah." Sam was frowning at him. "You okay?"

"Me? Of course." The room made an odd flip, sparkling at the edges. _Weird._

The frown deepened. "Dean?"

"We need to take you for a few tests, Sam," Alan said, coming into the room. "Then we'll take you up to your room."

"Room?" Sam whispered, all the blood draining from his face.

"Just for tonight, Sam," Alan said gently. "You can go in the morning."

"Dean?" Sam sounded frightened, just like he had when he was a kid and faced with medical tests. Dean looked at him, Sam was a little fuzzy around the edges.

"It's okay, Sam, I've made arrangements for Dean to stay in the room tonight, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be there when you get there," Dean said, his tongue feeling odd.

"Okay," Sam said, tears running over his face. "Okay, Dean."

"It won't be long, Sam," he said, patting his brother on the chest. His movements felt odd.

"Hi, Sam, remember me?" a pretty woman asked coming into the room.

"Yeah, hi," Sam said shyly.

"We're just taking you for an x-ray, honey, won't take long at all," the woman unlocked the wheels on the bed, Dean gave Sam's chest another pat and she wheeled him out of the room.

Dean dropped into the chair. "Wha's..."

"Dean?" Nate said concerned, Dean blinked at him.

"You bastard," Dean said as Alan walked over to him. "You..."

"What?" Nate asked.

"Not aspirin..." Dean mumbled as he closed his eyes.

"Sorry, Dean," Alan said as the darkness closed in.

**XXX**

_I'm going to glow in the dark, I know it. It will ruin hunts. _Sam almost chuckled imaging his brother's complains if he did start glowing in the dark. The good humor didn't last long, he shifted a little and pain shot through him. _It will never end, will it? This is how it will be._ He was silent as he was pushed through the hallway, watching the ceiling tiles go by, knowing where he was in the hospital from the changing colors of the walls. Part of him was worrying maybe he'd never left and the apartment, the kitten—all of it only had been a dream. _No, I was home, I was free of this place. _He planned on asking Dean if they could go home, Alan could monitor his condition there. The thought of another night in the hospital terrified him. It was at the point where he just expected to... Sam took a deep breath to steady himself. _No, Dean said I was okay... But... Dean? _

Sam knew.

He noticed the faint lines an oxygen mask had left on his brother's face, even though Dean had been covering—as usual. What he wasn't sure of, is what had happened. _His heart? A panic attack? _Sam worried about the attacks, he knew Dean thought he was getting away with it, all except that terrifying night after he'd been electrocuted, before they'd left to find Roy. They had been arguing, Sam without heat, but something he said triggered panic in Dean and before he knew it, his brother was gasping for air, Sam was calling the EMTs and praying Dean wouldn't die before Sam had a chance to save him. A panic attack then, in his state, could have... Sam took a deep breath. _And it happened again. Something._

"Sam?" Alan was waiting in the room as he was wheeled in.

"Where's Dean?" Sam asked.

"He's here." Alan waited until Sam was settled in the room's bed before pulling the curtain between the beds back.

"Is he okay?" Sam looked at his brother. Dean was asleep, a canula on his face.

"Yes," Alan said softly.

"His heart?" Sam said, watching the monitor over Dean's head. He had enough experience with them to know what it meant.

"I don't think so." Alan sighed.

"He needs to be here tonight, doesn't he?"

"Yes."

"But he's going to be okay?" Sam heard desperation in his voice, he pushed his fear away. _If Dean needs to be here, I can stay. He needs me here, I can do that much._

"I think so," Alan said, sitting in the chair beside the bed.

"What happened?"

"Sam..."

"Alan, I need to know, please," Sam pleaded. Alan met his eyes for a long, long moment. _Please, I... _

"Exhaustion and stress," Alan said with a sigh.

"Does he need to stay longer than overnight?" He was terrified of the answer, more time in the hospital... _No, if Dean needs it, I can stay. _Sam suddenly noticed how bad his brother looked.

"No, tonight should be fine, he needs to sleep."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah," Alan smiled. "But I might need a night after he wakes up."

The doctor seemed uncomfortable, almost embarrassed. Sam frowned, trying to figure out what was going on, then it dawned on him. "Don't worry, I've done it once or twice."

"Huh?"

"You slipped him something, right?" Sam smiled, remembering the first time he'd given Dean a sleeping pill and lied about it. _He needed sleep, he'd been up for days taking care of dad and me, and he wouldn't sleep. _As soon as Sam had been up and around enough to make soup, he'd given his brother "just a couple of Tylenol to help your headache." Dean had been mad as hell the next day, but he'd slept, and once he'd calm down, he admitted he needed the sleep.

"Yeah. Sam..."

"Dean told me," Sam blurted out.

"Told you?" Alan repeated, swallowing.

"About your wife," he said flatly, trying to focus on the doctor who had become a friend and not the gnawing of betrayal in his gut.

"Oh," it was a soft sigh of sound.

"How is she?" Sam asked, reacting to the pain on the doctor's face.

"Dying."

"Why didn't you...?" Sam broke off, the sense of betrayal was enormous.

"I..." Alan looked away.

"It's why I'm here, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Alan, this place is nice, well more than nice. I remember when I was transferred, wondering how Dean managed this."

"It's not what you think."

"Oh?"

"It's not guilt, Sam, it's gratitude. Dean saved her."

"But you said..." Realization hit him. "What happened?"

"He said she was... That..."

"Possessed?"

"Yeah." Alan acknowledged it reluctantly. "I still wouldn't believe it..."

"Tell me," Sam said, shifting.

"How's your pain?" Alan asked, all business for a moment. Sam shrugged. The doctor smiled wanly, stood and was back with a syringe. He administered the dose. Sam sighed as the drug worked through his system. "Sam..."

"Please, tell me."

"I didn't know, at first, when I took your case. You were just one of many at the other hospital. Dean had been a little difficult and they turned it over to me," Alan shrugged. "I pissed off an admin over there and usually get the pain in the ass cases."

"Or the pain in the ass family members," Sam said with a smile. His pain had backed off to a dull roar.

"Those too. I'd been on your case for about a week when there was another shooting. He... He died. Same bar, same thing, woman walked up and shot someone. That night, Carrie came home from her book club—well that's where she was supposed to have been—and she was splattered with blood. I hadn't been home the night you were shot." Alan rubbed a hand over his face. "I had no idea what happened and she didn't remember the blood the next morning. Three nights later she was going out with a friend. I followed. I don't know what I was expecting, but then she stopped at that bar and got out. She had a gun..." He swallowed. "I don't know what I was going to do, I got out of the car, but she saw me—and ran—I was right behind her, trying to...The problem is, someone else saw her too, and recognized her, called the cops."

"And?" Sam said when the doctor fell silent for a minute.

"The cops found her, she was like a wild animal. She attacked them, injured one officer, before they..."

"I'm sorry," Sam said softly, knowing what the police must have done to stop her.

"They took her to the ER of the hospital you were in at the time—it's the county catch-all, I wanted to bring her here, but the police thought it was better—well General is better able to handle violent...criminals." Alan took a deep breath. "When I got to her room, she was screaming something, I have no idea what, it didn't sound like English. Dean somehow got wind that they'd captured the person who shot you. He appeared in the ER, ready to..."

"Kill her," Sam said with certainty. His eyelids were starting to get heavy.

"Yeah, but something changed his mind." Alan looked at Sam, with a pained expression. "I'm not really sure what happened, it's all jumbled up, she was dying. I knew she would. No one could even get close enough to treat her. As badly wounded as she was, she was snapping at people and somehow tore loose from the restraints. The police, they had no choice, I know that and they were going to... But then Dean was reciting Latin and..."

"Black smoke?" Sam asked, pretty sure he knew the answer.

"Black? No, more blood red. But there was smoke. She collapsed."

"Red smoke? Not black, are you sure?" Sam was getting sleepy, but something about that had the wheels turning in his head.

"No, it was definitely not black," Alan sighed, Sam noticed tears on the doctor's face. "Dean said it was okay, made an amulet to help, but even though we've dealt with the wounds, she's not getting better. She hasn't even woken up."

"Red?" Sam closed his eyes. _What does that mean? Red? Not a demon? But then what? _He opened his eyes and looked at the doctor. "Dean will be okay?" He needed to hear it again.

"Yes."

"Alan..." Sam took a deep breath, wondering if he was ready for this. Every instinct honed over a lifetime of researching for various hunts, told him something was going on. _Maybe... huh... _

"You need to rest, Sam."

"Yeah, but, maybe..." Sam swallowed. "Maybe I can find something to help."

_Help Alan, help Dean. Maybe even help me?_

_If nothing else, I can do this to say thank you._

_**To Be Continued**_

_A/N II: Don't worry Fim will be back next chapter, and you know? I'm a little worried about what he's been up to while the boys were gone..._


	12. Kitten of Destruction

_A/N: Sorry this update took awhile, I am working to catch up, but once again am on limited net time. I am focusing on chapters and will get to all the reviews, know, please, how much they mean to me!_

**Gifts**

**Chapter Twelve**

**Kitten of Destruction**

The sunlight was warm as it poured through the windows of Nate's car. Sam leaned against Dean as the car wound through town, headed back to their apartment. The car's engine had a similar sound to the Impala and the rumble lulled Sam into something almost like sleep.

It had been a long night at the hospital. After Alan left, Sam thought about what the doctor had told him for awhile, then watched The Learning Channel's "most bizarre illnesses" marathon. On at least three different cases he'd guessed the cause had been supernatural, the doctors were stumped and amazed by what seemed to be a miracle cure. Sam muttered at the television more than once, then glanced over at Dean's bed, hoping he hadn't spoken loud enough to wake his brother. Dean slept on.

Sam had tried dozing, but being back in the hospital keyed him up, even though his body was throbbing in pain and wanted to shut down, his brain refused to let him sleep. Somehow he'd become convinced if he slept too deeply, it would all turn out to be a dream and when he woke he would be trapped in the hospital, unable to move or speak forever. Somewhere deep in the logical portion of his brain, he knew that was just childish superstition, but it had been so long, the pain never-ending, he just couldn't, he wouldn't, take the chance. The logical part of him was having a good time mocking the rest, the problem was that calm logical voice was just too small, too timid, too quiet to override the pain and challenge the fear that being back had created.

Cindy the night nurse had come in about three and chided him for watching TV. He'd chatted with her briefly as she checked on his brother, Sam had asked if Dean was okay for the hundredth time since they'd arrived. She assured him Dean was fine, then came and poked at the machines and monitors around Sam. He wasn't sure what she did, all he knew was one second he was watching her adjusting the IV and the next he smelled the distinctive smell of hospital breakfast.

"Do you want coffee?" Nate's voice pulled him out of his daze.

"Yeah, that stuff they served with breakfast tasted like crap," Dean said.

"I'm not sure it's even coffee," Sam said, looking out the window, they were getting close to the coffee stand by their apartment.

"They said it was coffee," Dean huffed.

"You know it's decaffeinated, right?"

"It's what?" Dean's voice was tinged with horror, Nate laughed.

"Sorry." Sam smiled.

"You so aren't. She knows what we drink," Dean told Nate as he pulled up at the coffee stand.

"Hi!" Pooh said, leaning out of the stand. "Oh, I love this car."

"Me too," Dean said, opening the back window and leaning out. "They just don't make them like this anymore."

"Yeah," she said, handing Dean their coffees. "I'll have muffins later."

"We might not go to the lake today, but we will definitely be by tomorrow." Dean leaned back and offered Sam a cup.

"Thanks."

"I had Nancy go by and check on the kitten last night," Nate said, pulling out. "She fed him, cleaned the box and put some toys down for him."

"Thanks," Sam said. He sipped his coffee. The pain was already creeping back, crawling along his spine and down his legs. _It never ends. _He sighed, Dean nudged him with his shoulder, Dean's "are you okay?" nudge.

"Here we are." Nate stopped the car. "I'll get the chair."

"Thanks." Dean got out and walked around the car, waiting as Nate pulled the wheelchair out of the trunk. Sam wondered why his brother was waiting rather than getting it himself. "Ready, Sam?" Dean pulled the door open and lifted Sam into the chair. He was gentle as always, but a spike of pain blazed through Sam, enough that he was gasping for air by the time he was settled in the chair. "Sammy?" he heard Dean's voice from a distance.

"I'm okay," Sam said, breathing through the pain.

"As soon as we get in the house I'll get you something for that, Sam." Dean released the brakes on the chair and pushed Sam onto the porch. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and froze.

"Dean? What's wrong?" Sam asked. "Dean?"

"That freaking MONSTER!"

"Dean?" Sam asked again.

"I don't believe it!" Dean disappeared into the house. "HOW THE HELL DID HE DO THIS?" Dean's shout drifted out to Sam. He looked at Nate, the older man shrugged. "NO! NO! BAD MONSTER!"

"Should we go in?" Nate asked.

"I don't know," Sam said. Nate pushed him through the door, and stopped. "Oh."

It looked like it had snowed bits of paper towel, small pieces of paper were scattered across the floor. There was yarn wrapped through the furniture and around the floor like an insane spider had been turned loose with colored silk. A long piece of toilet paper stretched from the bedroom door through the living room. Dean was in the kitchen. Fim was on the counter, sitting innocently beside a package—or what had once been a package—of saltines.

"Bad monster," Dean said, his face inches from the kitten. Fim raised his paw and patted Dean on the nose. Sam pressed his lips together. The kitten poked at Dean again, his brother's face was getting increasingly red. Sam actually bit down on his closed lips. Fim stood on his hind legs and batted at Dean's head. Sam took a deep, calming breath, Dean was trying to stare the kitten down. "Bad, bad, STOP!" Fim knocked the remains of the crackers off the counter and onto the floor.

It was too much.

Sam started laughing, the kind of laugh he'd almost forgotten, the kind that started small and finally, just filled him, making his cheeks ache, making him gasp for breath. Pain shot through his body as he laughed, but he couldn't stop. It was bridging on hysteria, relief from being out of the hospital, relief that Dean was okay, and well, Dean trying to stare down the ball of fluff that was completely unimpressed by his attempt at discipline. Dean looked over at Sam with the same glare fixed on his face, then grinned, Sam laughed harder.

He couldn't stop.

"Sammy?" Dean said, crouching in front of the chair.

"Can't... stop..." Sam gasped out. The pain was quickly giving way to agony, and still he couldn't stop. In one way it felt good to laugh like that, laughter better than sobs, although this was close to becoming weeping, but still not. Tears were pouring down his cheeks as he laughed. The agony had reached the white-hot point, black spots dancing before his eyes and still he couldn't stop. "Hurts." He reached out and fisted his hand in Dean's shirt.

"It's okay," Dean said. "I'll get... SHIT!" Before Sam could even take a breath, Fim crawled over the top of Dean's shoulder and managed to get himself onto Sam's lap. As much as it hurt, it ramped the laughter up another notch.

"Dean..."

"Breathe, Sam." Dean said. Sam heard Nate's voice, but he couldn't make out the words through the blossoming agony and hysterical laughter. "He does this sometimes. Sammy?"

"Can't..." The back spots were quickly becoming one big one, Sam tried to get the laughter under control, tried to suppress the pain, but it wasn't working. He leaned his head against Dean's chest as everything went gray.

He wasn't all the way out, he was aware enough to hear Dean's concerned voice, but not the words. Aware enough to know that he was moved to his recliner, and that Nate quietly left. But it was only the edge of awareness.

There was warmth under his back and a funny trembling on his chest when the world came back into focus. Sam took a deep breath, the pain was still there, but muted. Dean must have given him something. He took another breath and opened his eyes, not really sure when he'd closed them. The tremble on his chest was the kitten, purring madly, eyes fixed on Sam's face. He reached up and stroked Fim's head, the cat responded by stretching a paw out and putting it against his lips.

"Freaking monster," Dean said from the bedroom.

"Dean?" Sam called.

"Hey," Dean said, appearing a moment later.

"Where's Nate?"

"He went to the shop, but gave me today off."

"I'm sorry," Sam said softly. He noticed the tension in his brother's shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" Dean frowned. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong." He paused. "Nothing except we left a demon alone in the apartment last night."

"A demon?" Sam asked, scratching the kitten under the chin.

"Oh, don't believe that innocent thing it's doing. It's a demon, pure and simple. That freaking monster destroyed the bathroom. There is not one single roll of toilet paper that hasn't suffered." Dean disappeared, coming back a second later with the tattered remains of a roll of paper. "He gutted them."

Sam swallowed the laughter, not wanting a repeat of earlier. "Maybe he was bored."

"He's a monster." Dean tossed the roll at Sam. It landed by the kitten. Fim rolled over, poked it, then grabbed it with his front paws, kicking at it with the back. "See? See?" Dean shook his head and went back into the bedroom.

Sam stroked the kitten while it killed the roll. The pain was muted, yes, but it was still there. It never ended, never went away, and it was wearing at him. And there was something more, something he hadn't mentioned to Dean, a new ache, deep in his bones that worried him, an ache that the pain meds didn't seem to be able to touch. Sometimes he managed to convince himself it was just part of the recovery, but he knew there was something wrong.

"How are you feeling?" Dean's voice broke into his musings.

"Better, thanks."

"Want me to get rid of that?"

"The toilet paper or Fim?"

"How about both?" Dean grinned. "Freaking monster. He got into the crackers too, the package on the counter was just the tip of the iceberg."

"He likes to hunt," Sam said as Dean took the "gutted" roll and the bits of paper into the kitchen.

"Crackers are not prey."

"Maybe they said something to him."

"Right," Dean said, bringing their coffees. "It's still warm."

"Thanks. Sorry," Sam said.

"It's okay."

The sat quietly together for several minutes. Sam watching Dean while his brother stared out the window into the garden. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Was it a panic attack?" Sam asked. He'd been reassured by everyone from Alan to a cardiologist to the various nurses, but he needed to hear it from Dean. He was pretty sure that if Dean thought it was necessary he could cover up a heart attack—even attached to every monitor known to medical science.

"Panic attack, Sammy? Me?" Dean hadn't turned from the window, Sam could see his jaw clenching.

"So it was a heart attack? Dean?" Sam couldn't keep the fear out of his voice.

"Sam?" Dean looked at him, a frown on his face.

"Was it? Dean?"

"No." Dean took a deep breath.

"Thank god," Sam let out the breath he'd been holding. "I thought..."

"No, it was a panic attack."

"Bad?"

"Nope."

"You had an oxygen mask on right before you came to see me."

"No, I didn't."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Dean?"

"Okay, maybe a little one."

"A little oxygen mask?" Sam couldn't help smiling.

"Yeah," Dean said, smiling back, then growing serious. "I don't know why, Sam, I just..."

"It's okay."

"First one ever," Dean said with a sideways glance.

"Yeah, first one ever, except for all those other times."

"All those other times which never happened."

"Yep."

"Yep and don't forget it." He paused and sipped his coffee. "Don't give up, Sam, you've come so far," Dean said so quietly it was almost a whisper.

"You keep saying that, Dean, but have I?" Sam was surprised at the bitterness in his voice.

"I told you what they told me. First it was he's dead, then it was brain damage, and look, they've been wrong every damn time."

"Dean..."

"No," Dean snapped. "Just no."

"Dean..."

"Did you know that you pet the freaking monster with your left hand?"

"What?" Sam looked down, the kitten was stretched out as Sam stroked him.

"You use your left hand, you were using it to play fetch yesterday, too."

"I was?" Sam frowned. "What does that...?"

"Sam," Dean said gently. "It means they are wrong, about everything."

"Dean?"

"They said..."

**Several Weeks Before**

Dean paced down the hallway. Sam was in surgery for the fifteen thousandth time. It was minor, so they said, nothing to worry about, so they said. Dean paced. He'd been up and down the corridor enough times to start tallying the passage in miles. They'd caught the woman who'd shot his brother the night before. Dean had been stunned to discover that she was related to Sam's doctor. He'd nearly asked that Carver be transferred off the case, but he actually liked the man, and trusted him as far as he trusted any doctor. Carver was the first that had listened to Dean's concerns and at least tried to explain what was happening with Sam.

"How's Sam?" Jessie asked, walking up behind Dean.

"Still in surgery," Dean growled. Jessie smiled, he was used to the growls by now.

"How long has it been?"

"A couple of hours." Dean sighed. He glanced at the doors.

"Let's get coffee, Dean, they know where to find you."

"Okay," Dean looked at the doors again, then followed Jessie to the small cafeteria at the end of the corridor. They'd been sitting at one of the tables for a few minutes when Dean saw Sam's doctor walk in. Carver looked around the room, nodding when he spotted them. "Here comes Carver," Dean said to Jessie.

"No punching," Jessie said quietly.

"Can I join you?" the doctor asked, setting three coffees down on the table.

"Yeah," Dean said.

"I wanted to speak with you about last night," Carver began.

"How is she?" Dean asked, guessing the answer from the lines of grief on the mans face.

"She's still alive, but that's all." He took a drink of coffee, staring across the room. "What was it?"

"I'm not sure, I..." Dean sighed. _I need Sam, he'd know, he has an instinct for this kind of thing. He always know where to start. _"Maybe Sam can help."

"About your brother," Carver said, meeting Dean's eyes.

"What?" Dean snapped, Jessie put a hand on his arm.

"I would like to move him."

"I told you no long-term care facilities. No." Dean shook his head to emphasize his words.

"No, Dean. I think Sam could get better care elsewhere, I hate to say it, but it's true."

"We can't afford it," Dean sighed. It was the truth of it, even with fake insurance, and really good fake credit cards, they'd never pass the screening a better hospital would do.

"I... You saved Carrie, Dean. I..." Carver paused. "I would like to transfer Sam to Valley View. I'm on staff there and I think it would be better for Sam—and for you, too, Dean."

"Why?" Dean asked suspiciously.

"You saved Carrie," he repeated. "You..." he swallowed. "I can't repay that, I can't make up for the fact that she's the one who hurt Sam, but..."

"I don't know."

"Valley View is one of the best hospitals in the state, Dean," Jessie said quietly.

"Can't afford it."

"You won't have to," Carver said quietly. "It's taken care of. I want to transfer him over there as soon as I can. Maybe even later this afternoon."

"Doctor Carver..." Dean said.

"Alan."

"Alan," Dean said, "I can't just..."

"Sam would do better there, Dean, he might have a chance."

"Might have a chance?" _Oh god. _"Oh," Dean understood immediately. "Okay, as soon as we can then."

"I'll make the arrangements, then. I'm moving Carrie too." The doctor stood and walked away.

"Valley View is nice, Dean, really nice. The food doesn't even stink."

"Well, that's the best recommendation ever." Dean smiled at Jessie and sipped his coffee. He'd sensed something in the doctor, he wasn't sure what it was, but there was a hesitation there.

Sam was in his room at the new hospital that evening. Dean prowled around the edges of the room, making sure charms were in place, salt at the windows and an invisible circle of protection under the bed. He hadn't taken the precautions at the other hospital, but that was before he knew that the shooting had been more than just a random act of violence. Once he was sure the room was as safe as he could make it, he sat down beside the bed, dropped his hand on Sam's arm and turned on the TV.

"Dean?" Sam's soft whisper pulled his attention from a bad movie.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said, turning to his brother.

"Where?" It worried Dean that Sam tended to stick to one word questions and answers. The fear of brain damage was still very much with Dean, his normally talkative brother was not talking at all.

"Your doctor had you transferred to a new hospital. It's really nice, and the nurses, dude, the nurses." Dean whistled softly.

"Why?" Sam frowned.

"He said it would be better for you here, Sammy." Dean smiled. "The food is good, and I can stay late without anyone hassling me."

"Dean?"

"It's okay, I checked it out, it's a good place."

"Hurt."

_Oh god, Sam. _"Let me buzz the nurse."

"Sure," Sam said, his eyes closing.

"Better?" Dean asked after the nurse had come and gone.

"Yeah," Sam said, opening his eyes and focusing on Dean a little more.

"Good. Alan should be back soon to check on you, too."

"Alan?"

"Your doctor."

"Oh." Sam's eyes drifted around the room, then closed. Dean thought his brother had gone to sleep, until he saw a tear run across Sam's cheek.

"Sam? Are you in pain? What is it?" Dean asked, trying to still the rising panic in his chest.

"Can't..." Another tear, Sam took a deep breath that sounded like a sob.

"Sam?"

"Move."

_Oh god, oh Sam. _"It's the drugs, Sammy, you were in surgery, remember?"

"Oh." Sam sighed, the tears still running over his face.

"It'll be okay, Sam."

"Promise?"

"Yeah."

"Dean?" Alan asked from the door.

"Here's the doc, Sammy. Come in, he's awake."

Alan walked to the bed and smiled down at Sam. "How are you?"

"Hurt."

"How's your pain level on a scale of one to ten?"

"The nurse was just in and gave him something," Dean offered.

"Ten," Sam said quietly.

"Okay, I'll see what we can do about that." Alan nodded at the nurse who came into the room. She put a new bag on the IV pole and hooked it up to Sam. "This should help."

"Okay," Sam closed his eyes, with a sigh. Dean watched for a moment as his brother's breathing evened out.

"Dean?" Alan said softly as soon as Sam was asleep, "let's step into the hallway."

"What is it?" Dean pounced as soon as they were out.

"I spoke with his surgeon."

"And?" Dean swallowed.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" _No, no, no. _

"There's no..." Alan stopped.

"What? Just tell me," Dean growled.

"He's going to be able to use his right arm," Alan said, it sounding almost like he was changing the subject, Dean knew better.

"But?"

"Dean, I'm sorry," the doctor repeated.

"Alan?"

"There's no hope for the left arm. It's..."

"No."

"We can..."

"No."

"Dean..."

"No." Dean shook his head. The idea of Sam... _No, just no. No way. _

"There's more."

"What?"

"An infection has set in, I think that's why the pain is getting worse. We've started antibiotics."

"But?"

"I don't know."

"Is that why you wanted to move him? Because of the infection?" Dean demanded.

"Partially, yes." Alan sighed. "Dean, we need to discuss..."

"No. No options. Sammy is going to get better and walk out of here."

"Dean, you need to face..."

"NO!" Dean shouted, his voiced echoed a little in the quiet hallway. "No." He turned and walked into Sam's room.

"Wrong?" Sam asked as Dean settled beside the bed.

"Nothing, Sammy."

"Shouted."

"Yeah, they wanted me to eat the veggie burger for dinner. Veggie, dude. The word shouldn't even go with burger." He put his hand on Sam's left arm, then realized it was a mistake. Sam looked from his hand to his face and back again, the tears started. "Sammy?" Dean asked gently.

"Can't..." Deep breath. "Feel..." another breath.

"Sam?"

Sam took a deep breath and met Dean's eyes. "I can't feel your hand," he said softly, the despair in his voice hit Dean like a punch.

"Sam it's just..."

"Don't lie."

"It'll be better, I promised, remember?"

"Yeah," Sam said, the pain still very much in his eyes.

"I promise, Sam."

**XXX**

"Shit!" Sam's cry of pain snapped Dean back to the present. The kitten had rolled over and was chewing on Sam's left hand. His brother was trying to detach the kitten, but the more he pulled the tighter it held on.

"You freaking monster!" Dean stood and grabbed Fim, lifting his paws away from Sam's hand. Blood trickled down Sam's wrist from a myriad of slices. "Get down!" He dropped the kitten on the floor and dashed to the bathroom, grabbing the alcohol and cotton balls. By the time he got back, the cat was on the arm of the chair and Sam was smiling at it. "Get down!"

"It's okay, Dean, he didn't know he was hurting me."

"And he does now?" Dean sat on the other chair arm and gently swabbed the wounds.

"Yes."

"Don't tell me, you talked to him right?"

"Yeah. That hurts." Sam frowned at his hand.

"It does? Sorry," Dean said, hiding the smile. _His hand hurts, his hand hurts. Should I be this happy? _One of the cuts looked deep enough to warrant a band-aid. Dean stuck one over the slice.

"You lied to me," Sam said when Dean was finished.

"No I didn't."

"You said it would be better." Sam's eyes were bleak.

"It _is_ better, Sam. You can feel the beast gnawing on you, that's better. You were using your hand to pet it, that's better. You took a few steps and stood for almost three minutes. That's better. Sam, they're wrong. You're going to be better, all the way better."

"Dean..."

"No, Sam. You will be. They are wrong." Dean got up, not able to look at the pain in his brother's face for the moment. "Hungry?"

"No."

"Good, I'll make lunch."

"I said no."

"What was that? You want what to eat?" Dean dug around in the cupboard, he had another one of Grandma Opal's recipes he planned to try for lunch. Sam had fallen in love with her cooking the summer they'd stayed with her.

"I said I'm not hungry."

"I don't know if tacos and licorice are really a balanced meal, Sammy." Dean got the leeks out of the fridge and looked at them for a moment. _Weird looking, they are just weird looking. _

"I'm not hungry, I don't want food."

"You'll have to wait until after the meal to eat crap like ice cream, you know that." He sliced the leeks and then rinsed them in water. _"Be careful and wash them all the way, there is nothing worse than a grit in soup, you hear me Dean Winchester? You wash the leeks. Carefully," Grandma Opal said when he called and asked for the recipe. _

"Dean?"

"We don't have any steak, I think that's a little heavy for lunch anyway, don't you?" He put a little butter into a sauce pan, melted it and added the leeks, letting them cook until they were soft.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" He turned back to his brother. Sam was smiling at him. "Shut up, I am not losing it."

"Might be," Sam said.

"Nope."

"Yep."

"No. I win."

"How did you win?"

"'Cause I'm older. So there."

"Mature." Sam was scratching the kitten with his left hand. Dean watched as his brother focused on his hand. Sam carefully closed his fingers in Fim's fur. The kitten flopped over with a look of bliss on its face.

"Yep, that's me." Dean turned back pan, adding water and steel-cut oats. He set the timer on the stove and kept an eye on it while he set the table. After twelve minutes, he pulled it off the heat and went in to get Sam. "Ready for food?"

"I said..."

"Yeah, and I don't care. You're eating." Dean lifted Sam onto his feet and helped him into the kitchen, leaving the wheelchair in the living room and letting Sam sit in one of the chairs at the table. Somehow he sensed that the reminder the wheelchair provided was not a good idea right then. Once Sam was settled Dean served the soup.

"What's this?" Sam took a small spoonful and a slow smile spread across his face. "Grandma Opal's Oatmeal Leek soup?"

"Yeah, how is it?"

"Good," Sam took another bite and absently reached for a piece of bread. "Dean, Alan talked to me about Carrie."

"Yeah?"

"Red smoke?"

"Yeah, like old blood, you know that weird red-black color?"

"Yeah," Sam frowned, Dean could see the wheels turning. "Do we have internet?"

"What?" Dean asked, his heart twisting in his chest with a happy little leap of joy.

"Internet? So I can do a little research?"

"Research?" _Okay, first a panic attack and now tears over this? Dude, get a grip. _

"You know, when I poke at the keys and annoy you with the clacking?"

"Oh, yeah, research," Dean said, ignoring the lump in his throat.

"I have an idea."

"I knew you would."

"Dean," Sam took a deep breath.

"Sam?"

"I..."

"What is it?"

"I know... I... Dean..." Sam's voice broke.

"Sammy?" Dean was up and standing beside his brother, Sam leaned against him.

"Dean, there's something wrong."

"I told you, Sam, you're getting better."

"No, Dean. I'm not sure I am. The pain never goes away, and the last day or two, it's been getting so much worse."

"It's just because you've been up and I..." Dean swallowed. _And I was an asshole and made you walk and caused a thorax thingie and..._

"Dean," Sam said gently. "I want to research, I want to help, but Dean..."

"Don't," Dean said desperately. "We'll get your laptop set up as soon as we finish, okay?"

"Okay."

Sam finished the soup, then settled back in his chair to research. Dean fussed around the house as his brother surfed the net. Sam dropped off to sleep after an hour, the computer still open on his lap, Fim sound asleep on the keyboard. Dean picked the cat up, moved the computer and set the kitten back on Sam's lap. He put a load in the washing machine and emptied the dishwasher.

Dean's phone rang as he settled down to watch TV at three. He glanced at the caller ID. "Alan," he answered it.

"How are you feeling?" There was something seriously wrong with the doctor, he could hear it.

"I'm fine." Dean glanced over at Sam, his brother was awake.

"Dean..."

_Oh god, what? _"What is it?" he asked, keeping his voice calm.

"Carrie..." Alan's voice broke. "She..."

"I'm so sorry," Dean said quietly.

"Dean?" Sam asked.

"Carrie," he said flatly. Sam understood, tears pooled in his eyes.

"The infection, it..." A soft sob drifted through the phone. "Dean, you need to know..."

"What?" His heart was suddenly slamming in his chest.

"Sam..."

"The infection's worse," Sam said from beside him. "Isn't it?"

"What?" Dean said to both of them.

"My infection, it's worse," Sam said, loud enough for his voice to carry over the phone.

"No," Dean took a desperate breath. _No, not now, not when things..._

"Yes," Alan said. "He's right, Dean. I'll be there as soon as I..." his voice broke again. "I'll be there." The connection went dead.

_No. _The word was bouncing around in Dean's head, hammering against the walls of his skull as his heart accelerated to a break-neck pace. _No. _He swallowed. _No. _His breathing was getting harsh. _No._

"Focus, Dean," Sam said quietly.

"Huh?" He turned to his brother.

"Don't have a panic attack."

"I don't have panic attacks," Dean said with a smirk. "What are you thinking?"

"Right, I forgot," Sam said with a smile.

"Sam?"

"What?"

"What I said before, this doesn't change anything," he said, looking at his brother, willing Sam to believe.

"Dean..."

"No, Sam, this doesn't change anything, you're going to get better. I promised."

"They don't even know what the infection is," Sam said.

"Yeah, well they will."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Alan's wife..."

"What?" _Don't ask, please, Sam, don't ask._

"Her infection?"

"Yeah?" _Oh god. _

"The one that just killed her?"

"Yeah?" _Run, hide, put your fingers in your ears then he can't ask you and you won't have to answer._

"Is it..."

"What?"

"It's the same one, isn't it?"

"Don't know what you mean." _Not panicking, not panicking._

"Mine. It's the same infection, isn't it?"

Dean took a shaky breath. _Oh god. _"Yeah."

_**To Be Continued**_


	13. On Giving Up

_A/N: I would like to thank you all for your kind notes and wishes since my surgery! I am slowly getting back onto my feet, writing-wise at least. I can't begin to say what you all mean. On my guided imagery CD I used to prep for surgery, it said "the OR is full of friends, some you recognize, some you don't, but they are all with you," and you all were. Thank you. _

_A/N II: I know it's been awhile for this story, this chapter was hard to write. __Sometimes when you have been ill or injured, or both as in Sam's case, things have hit bottom before you can begin to really fight. Bear with me on this one, I promise things will look up! Thank you to TraSan._

**Gifts**

**Chapter Thirteen**

**On Giving Up**

The silence stretched between them for a long, long time. After Dean's soft admission about the infection, Sam had been silent. He was lost in thought, wondering how it happened, wondering what the infection was, wondering… He sighed softly, wondering how long he could go on. Dean's vehement promise that he would get better was there, floating at the edge of his awareness, but right now it seemed like empty words. How could Dean promise, when he knew? Knew everything that had happened, knew the infection was slowly taking his life away? And still that fierce promise.

It gave him hope, it filled him with despair. _Maybe it would have been better for Dean to let me go then, when it happened. This will be hard for him._ The tears were coursing down his cheeks, unheeded, until the kitten started licking his face.

"Don't," Dean said quietly, his voice as harsh as if he were screaming. Sam looked up at him, Dean's eyes were bright, his face unguarded and painted with a shattered look that cut Sam to the core. "Please, Sammy, just…"

"Just what, Dean?" Sam said, surprised at the tone of his voice—angry, hurt, desperate. Had that been there all this time?

"Don't give up."

"You keep saying that like it means something. Like it will make a difference."

"It does, Sam, damn it!"

"Dean…"

"If you give up again, Sammy, so help me…"

"What?" Sam asked, startled. "What do you mean?"

"You don't get to give up, I won't let you," Dean was all authority, sounding just like he had one bright summer day when Sam was fourteen.

"_Keep going, come on, Sammy," Dean said from the path in front of Sam. They were hunting, dad said Black Dog, Dean said skinwalker, Bobby said werewolf. Sam didn't think it was any of those three, he thought it was something else. He wasn't sure what, but things didn't add up the way they should. Right now, he didn't care about any of that, all he cared about was getting up the path in the scorching heat. The trail was shimmering with mirage, looking like water was flowing over the crest of the hill, it was so hot, the metal on his backpack was actually burning him through his t-shirt. Sweat poured off of him and immediately evaporated into stiff salt lines on his clothing. And to top that misery off, John was far ahead with Bobby, annoyed that the heat was bothering his sons and Dean was acting like a cheerleader, urging Sam up the hill, even as his steps slowed. _

"_Can we take a break?" Sam asked as he caught up with his brother. Dean nodded without speaking and handed him a bottle of sports drink. Sam choked it down, he'd discovered that while cold tropical punch flavor was good, when it was as hot as a cup of coffee it was, well…_

"_Gross," Dean said, finishing Sam's thought. "This stuff is just gross."_

"_Yeah." Sam grinned at his brother as he capped the bottle. "It's hot."_

"_I know."_

"_My feet hurt."_

"_We've covered that, Sam, I know your feet hurt, that it's hot, that your sunglasses broke."_

"_I want something cold to drink."_

"_I do too, stop bitching."_

"_How much further?"_

"_Not far."_

"_Go without me, I'll wait here," Sam said, plopping down on a rock. He knew it was a mistake the minute the hot rock started searing his leg. Dean knew it too, Sam could tell from his brother's grin._

"_No, you need to just keep moving."_

"_No."_

"_I have chocolate for later." _

"_Can I have it now?"_

"_No, you can have it later. After we get up the hill or something."_

"_I want it now."_

"_No, it's for later."_

"_I give up, Dean, I don't want to go any further," Sam almost whined._

"_You can't give up, not an option. Now get up." His brother was all authority, that annoying tone he used to get Sam to do what he wanted—it always worked—as he stood up Sam wondered if it always would._

"_Boys!" John's shout echoed around the canyon. Sam looked up, his father was at the top of the trail, looking back at them._

"_Coming!" Dean called back. "Let's go, it's not that much further, Sam."_

"_Only seven thousand miles," Sam muttered under his breath, but fell in step behind Dean. He was focused on the path, trying to keep from slipping on the continually rolling gravel, not looking around at all. His curiosity had worn off about the same time the desert had reach oven-hot._

"_SAMMY!" Dean's shout was panicked, Sam's head snapped up to see what was wrong._

_The world fell on him._

_At least that was how it felt, something solid and so massive he had no way of seeing around it, hit him hard and for a brief moment, he was weightless. The heavy mass of the thing was against his chest, but the rest of him was free, floating in the air, untouched by gravity. A moment later, gravity—and everything else—caught up. There was a flash, then there was nothing. Sam sank into the nothingness. It was so much easier to just sink down into that. _

"_Sammy?" Dean said, his voice sounding like it was coming from far away. "Sam?" There was a haze surrounding Sam, blanketing him from everything, he couldn't feel anything._

"_It could have poisoned him," John said. "He needs to fight this or he's gone."_

"_He will, come on, Sam. Fight," Dean said._

_The blanket was cocooning him, leaving just the voices. Part of him struggled against it, the rest floated deeper._

"_I'm not getting a pulse," Bobby said desperately._

"_He's not breathing," John sounded every bit as panicked as Bobby._

"_Come on, Sam," Dean said. "You hear me? You're not gone, got it?" _

"_Dean…"_

"_No, dad." _

"_At least we killed the son of a bitch," Bobby said softly._

"_No! NO!" Dean's voice cut through everything. "Sam? Listen to me. You don't get to give up, I won't let you. You don't give up, if you do…" The threat was left unspoken._

_The nothingness started to creep away, responding to Dean's order. The blanket was falling away, something was burning in his chest. Sam took a breath, the burning sensation backed off a little. "Sam! That's it, come on." Another breath, now Sam could feel a hand on his shoulder, the rocks under his back. "There you go," Dean said. Sam took another breath, this time the light was visible through his eyelids, he slid them open and blinked at the bright blue sky._

"_Dean?" He turned his head, Dean was kneeling beside him, his hand on Sam's shoulder. _

"_Hey, Sammy," Dean said, closing his eyes briefly._

"_Can I have my chocolate now?"_

_Dean stared at him for a moment, then dug through his backpack. He pulled out a Snickers bar and grimaced. "Uh, you might need a straw." _

_Sam laughed as his brother helped him up._

A sharp pain brought Sam back to apartment. He looked down, Fim, apparently bored with the silence, was happily chewing on his hand. Sam frowned at the kitten for a moment, realizing what that pain meant—maybe for the first time. He could feel his hand. Not just the aching numbness, the deep down hurt that never changed, but he could feel the damage the cat was doing to his hand. He suddenly understood what Dean's smile meant when Sam had complained about the alcohol. Sam carefully closed his hand in the kittens fur and felt what he'd felt before, the first brush of silky softness on the tips of his fingers. _I did feel it. _A tiny flame of hope flared in his chest. A single candle in a very dark night, but it was there.

"No! Bad monster," Dean said, lifting the cat away. "You can't let him chew on you, Sam."

"What?" Sam shifted his gaze to his brother.

"He pulled the band-aid off, I just put it on!" Dean said, Sam chuckled at the offended tone and watched as Dean gently dropped the kitten on the floor and grabbed the bandages. The alcohol stung in the scratches, Sam felt tears gather in his eyes. _It wasn't a fluke. _ Dean stuck a band-aid down and gathered up the garbage and carried into the kitchen. "And don't even..."

"What?"

"Try and tell me that band-aids are the natural prey of house cats. Want a coke?"

"Sure," Sam said, shifting in the chair. Despite the dose of pain medication Dean had given him earlier, the pain was creeping back, the agony slipping up his legs and along his spine. He shifted again. _When will it end? _Part of him answered that with a flat _Never. _He wanted to believe Dean, that it would get better, but it was never-ending. He moved again, it was getting worse fast. Sam closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to stop the throbbing pain.

"Hey," Dean said softly. Sam opened his eyes and looked at him. "You should have said something." He pressed two pills into Sam's hand.

"I... I thought it was too soon," Sam said, taking the pills and chasing them with the soda.

"Nope, it's almost time to start dinner."

"Is it?" Sam glanced at the clock on the wall, the afternoon had slipped away. "I hate that," he said, not meaning to speak out loud.

"What?" Dean frowned at him.

"What?" Sam asked, then realized he'd said something. "The meds. I lose time, Dean, I lost the afternoon, it just slipped away." The tears were back.

"I know," Dean said gently, then smiled. "Remember last year when I got torn up by that poltergeist? It happened on Tuesday, next thing I know I'm watching TV and it's Saturday."

"And you'd been talking the whole time," Sam said, trying for a smile.

"And you won't tell me what I said."

"You made me promise."

"Yeah, I know, not really sure I want to know. I just remember kind of waking up and there was an 'America's Next Top Model' marathon on."

"And you knew all the girls names."

"Did not."

"Did so."

"Not."

"So."

"Nope."

"Yep."

"Nuh uh."

"Uh huh." Sam stopped when the pain along his spine spiked again.

Something had changed, the pain was worse, and there was an odd sense of doom pervading his body. Try as he might to believe Dean, to focus on that promise things would get better, he couldn't believe it. It had been going on for so long, it felt like forever, and no matter what Dean said, he still couldn't walk, he still couldn't use his left arm much, he was still in pain, every second of every moment. And then there was the infection. It had just killed Alan's wife, and Sam knew that it was pulling his life away—finishing what the bullets couldn't.

"Sammy?" Dean asked gently. Sam felt his brother's hand on his shoulder, reminding him of that day so long before. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Sam said, opening his eyes. There were tears on his cheeks. He wondered how long he'd been spinning in misery.

"Nothing?" Dean shook his head. "Sam, you have to..." The phone starrted ringing. Dean pulled it out of his pocket and scowled at it. "Damn, it's Alan." He flipped the phone open. "Hey." Dean frowned. "Okay. They're doing an autopsy on Carrie," he said to Sam, then turned back to the phone. After listening for a moment, he looked at Sam, something like panic in his eyes. "No, nothing like that." A pause. "No. Yeah. Sure." He snapped the phone closed.

"Dean?" Sam said, noticing his brother's hand was trembling.

"Nothing, they're still working. Alan said... After dinner. Speaking of which, I need to get it going. Want to watch TV?" Without waiting for an answer, Dean turned on the set. "Any preference?" Dean was focused on the TV, not looking at Sam. A fleeting wistful look crossed his face, Sam looked up, a car looking remarkably like the Impala had just been rolled onto the stage at an auction. "Sixty-Six Chevelle SS, they had one last time that went for almost a hundred grand," Dean said.

"Really?" Sam asked, looking at the car. _How much did he get for the Impala? He misses it. I wonder, could he get it back if I was...? _He let the thought form and drift around his head.

"Yeah, it was all original, amazing car," Dean said, still without looking at Sam. He got up and paced into the kitchen. "I'm going to get dinner started."

"I'm not hungry."

"Are we going to do that again?" Dean said wearily.

"Dean..."

"No."

Sam turned so he could watch Dean, something was wrong, he could tell by the set of his brother's shoulders. Dean opened the refrigerator and started putting things on the counter. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," the answer came back so fast it surprised him a little.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Fine, whatever," Sam snapped, wondering if Dean realized he was rubbing his chest. Sam stopped the rest of the words that were threatening to come out.

"Sorry," Dean mumbled.

"What?"

"Sorry," Dean said, coming over and squatting beside the chair. "I..."

"What?"

"Alan wants me to bring you in after dinner. I'll call Nate and arrange another day off."

"No."

"Yeah, I need a day off if..."

"I'm not going back, Dean."

"Alan said..."

"I don't care." He leaned back and closed his eyes, everything catching up in that moment. "I can't go back."

"Sam..."

"If I go back, I won't come out, Dean, you know that"

"No, Alan said it was the only..." Dean broke off when Sam started shaking his head. "Sam?"

_No, oh god no. I can't, I can't. _The pain throbbed through his body. Tears started running down his cheeks without warning. An ache appeared in his chest, beating in time with his heart. He tried to shift, the agony shot up his legs and they only moved a tiny bit. _No. I can't. _It was enough. He couldn't continue like this. He wouldn't continue like this.

"You promised," Sam said, suddenly making the choice he knew he should have made the other night. It would be better this way. Dean could go on, he'd be better off without...

"You will get better."

"Not that one," Sam opened his eyes and met his brother's.

"What?" Dean frowned in confusion for a moment, then the blood drained from his face. "Sam..."

"Dean, it's better this way. Maybe you can even get the car back."

"No," Dean whispered, shaking his head. The hand on the chair was trembling.

"I'm not getting better, Dean, the pain never ends, you said that I could go, as long as you were there."

"No." The whisper was softer, Dean's breathing harder.

"I can't go on, please."

"No." It had become a refrain, his brother's face getting paler with each repetition.

"You made me promise, Dean," Sam said, the anger, the desperation boiling out of him. "You made me promise that I wouldn't, unless you were there. You said..."

"No."

"Dean, I didn't. I kept my end, but you said I could." He reached his right hand out and laid it over Dean's. "It will be better this way."

"No."

"I know you have enough to let me go, in that locked drawer in the bedroom. You could make it easy for me."

"No."

"Dean, you'd be better off."

"No."

"Dean, please, I can't..." A sob broke loose. "I can't walk, I can't take the pain, the infection will kill me anyway, Dean. This way you can be here, like you said." Sam met Dean's panicked gaze, watching the emotions play there.

"No." Dean dropped his head, taking several deep breaths, Sam noticed when his brother's hand stopped shaking. He looked up his face wet with tears and the panic gone, replaced by something Sam didn't recognize. "You're right," Dean said in a weird, flat voice. "I do have enough."

"We can have a nice dinner, you know? Dessert. Fim can curl up on me," Sam said gently.

"Last meal?" Dean continued in that strange voice. "Sam..." He stopped when someone knocked on the door.

"Dean? It's Nate."

Dean got up and walked to the door, he opened it and Nate walked it. "Can you sit with Sam?" he asked and, without waiting for an answer, walked out the door.

Nate stood there for a moment, looking out, then carefully closed the door. He walked into the living room. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Sam said, turning away from the man's gentle gaze.

"Sam," Nate said, sitting down beside him, "what's going on?"

"Nothing," Sam repeated.

"You know, over the last few weeks, you two have become like family."

"You don't even know me."

"What?" Nate said with a soft laugh.

"You don't know me, I've hardly talked to you."

"And?" Nate asked.

"How can I be...?"

"Sam, in some ways I feel like I know you better than Dean."

That got him to meet the other's gaze. "What?"

"He," Nate laughed again, "he talks a lot."

"Dean?"

"Yes."

"Dean?"

"Dean."

"My brother?"

"Is there another Dean?"

"Dean talked a lot?"

"He didn't at first," Nate said thoughtfully. "It was after they'd moved you..."

**Several Weeks Before**

Nate pulled up in the valet parking for Valley View Hospital waiting in line for a moment before turning the keys of his car over and heading into the building. He had to admit to himself he hated the place, of course he hated hospitals in general, hated the way they smelled, hated that sense of sadness that often seemed to permeate the walls. Even though good things happened there, the grief seemed to overwhelm everything else.

"Good morning," the pretty girl behind the info desk said, smiling at him. "Can I help you?"

"No, I know the way," he said. And he did, in the days since they'd moved Sam to the hospital, it had become a familiar place. He was pretty sure he could find his way with his eyes closed. Nate sighed, he was worried about the young man, things didn't look like they were going well—there was a certain look the medical staff had on their face that seemed to say "terminal" to him. Worst of all, to Nate's eyes, it looked like Sam was fading away. He didn't know the young man well, but he did know what hope looked like, and it was nowhere surrounding Sam. Nate could see pain etched on his face, hear it in his voice—when Sam spoke at all.

And as worried as he was for Sam, he was approaching panic about Dean. Of what would happen if Sam died, which was getting more likely rather than less.

Nate had come to think of Dean as family, and he regularly thanked whatever angel, fate or act of God that let him and Nancy go to the bar the night of the shooting. They hadn't even planned to go, Nancy had a cold and wasn't feeling up to their weekly evening out, but she'd changed her mind at the last moment. So they were there—for the shooting and everything after. He was amazed at Dean's calm in the face of what had happened, the control he showed when dealing with what seemed a hopeless situation. _Sure, he slugged a doctor, but the guy was an asshole. _

There was an unusual amount of activity when Nate stepped off the elevator on Sam's floor, and with a sinking feeling in his heart, he walked quickly down the hall. Dean was in the corridor, face white, staring at the door to Sam's room.

"Dean?"

"Nate," Dean said, without taking his eyes off the door. His voice tight with emotion.

"What's going on?"

"Don't know."

"Hey," Nate grabbed his arm and gave it a shake. "What's going on?"

"Sam started screaming."

"What?"

"No words, just screaming."

"What?" Nate repeated with horror.

"It stopped about..." Dean glanced at the clock. "Three minutes ago. No one is talking to me." The door to Sam's room opened and Sam's doctor came out, a distracted look on his face. "Alan, is he?"

"Yes, he's alive, we're taking him to surgery, Dean, we'll know more after."

"Will he make it?" Dean asked bluntly.

"I don't know."

"Alan?" Dean snapped.

"Dean," the doctor began, a look of profound sadness in his eyes. Nate saw it as the answer to Dean's questions, and the answer was no.

Dean must have understood, too. He closed his eyes then focused back on the door. "Right. Wait!" Dean said as they pushed an unconscious Sam out of the room. He walked over to the bed and put his hand down on Sam's chest. "Sammy?" he said softly, Nate would swear for the rest of his life that Sam's head turned towards Dean. "They have to take you to surgery, but you are going to come through fine, you hear me? Don't give up, Sammy, it'll get better. You will get better. I promise, Sam." Dean gently patted Sam's chest, nodded at Alan and Sam was wheeled away.

"Let's get you a cup of coffee," Nate said. Dean was staring down the corridor. "Dean? Coffee?"

"What?" Dean turned to him. "No, I need to be in the waiting room."

"You need coffee, and probably something to eat," Nate said firmly, steering them towards the elevators. "Alan knows where to find you, and we'll be up to the waiting room in a few minutes."

Dean let himself be led to the coffee stand, then out into the quiet courtyard. The soft whisper of a fountain filled the air. It was the only place in the hospital Nate didn't mind. The scent of flowers and the mist from the fountain moved around them as Nate pulled Dean to a bench away from the entrance to the garden. Dean's phone started ringing as they sat down.

"Oh god," Dean said, looking at it. He flipped it open. "Alan?" His hand was visibly shaking as he held the phone. "Yes," he said flatly and flipped it closed. He was silent for a long moment, staring at the phone. "I'm going to lose him," he whispered. "He's dying, Nate. I'm going to lose him." Dean hadn't looked up. "Will you make sure there are flowers for him?" Dean asked.

Nate was confused for a moment, then realized what Dean was saying. "No, Dean."

""I can't...Without Sam... I..." Dean swallowed and looked up. "Please."

"Dean, son..." Nate said softly.

"I can't," Dean repeated. "My father gave him to me when he was six months old, you know, told me to take care of him. I carried him out of a fire. He..." Dean stared out across the garden. "The first thing I ever remember him saying was bear. He had this old ratty teddy bear I'd found somewhere, cleaned up for him, he called it 'Bear.' When he was four, I remember..." And suddenly Dean was talking, memory after memory pouring out of him. As he spoke, his voice changed, warmed. Nate was sure that if family could be summed up in a sound, it would be there in the tone of Dean's voice. Sometimes anger vibrated as he spoke, sometimes amusement, but always that warmth. Nate looked over, Dean's face was wet with tears.

"I was hurt," Dean said. "Bad. Sam took care of me. I don't remember much after I was attacked. I was poisoned. Everyone else who'd been attacked was dead. At first, the poison messed me up—despite my injuries I was up, yelling. I hit Sam, more than once. He just helped me back to bed. Then, as the poison worked through my system, the injuries caught up, a fever spiked and I was down. All I remember is Sammy's voice, talking to me, telling me to hang on. The cold cloths he put on my head. He kept me focused, kept me _there_, long enough for the poison to work through me, to let my wounds heal." Dean's voice changed, Nate wasn't sure what it was. "He never gave up. Everyone else did, Sammy didn't. I found out later he'd been beside the bed for three days. He didn't sleep, hardly ate. Never left, never gave up."

Dean paused and scrubbed a hand across his face. He took several deep breaths, then looked up. "He never gave up on me, Nate. Never." He shook his head, then huffed out a breath. "I can't believe I almost..."

"Almost...?"

"Gave up. When Alan called. He said Sam... He said..." Dean swallowed, the tears streaking down his face. "I won't give up on him. I won't let him give up. I... I.... I'll get a place, fix it up. They say he won't be able to walk ever again, I don't believe it. But he'll need someplace to heal." Dean's voice had strengthened. He jumped as his phone started ringing. "Alan?" Dean closed his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered and closed the phone. "Sam made it through surgery. He made it." His voice broke, he put his head in his hands, his body trembling. "Sam..." Nate heard the harsh whisper. He put his arm over Dean's shoulder and let him cry.

**Present**

Dean stalked down the street. His despair had become anger had changed to despair and back around again. He knew he was dangerously close to a panic attack. His breathing was getting harsher, the pounding in his chest becoming pain. Sam wanted to die. It was that simple. After everything, Sam wanted to die. He actually thought it would be better that way. Dean saw that certainty in his brother's eyes.

As he walked back to the apartment, he paused to looked at the car Nate had driven that night, admiring the lines of the '63 Impala. It was an odd color, the paint glowing softly in the night. Dean leaned against the trunk, staring up into the sky. _What am I supposed to do?_ No one answered his silent plea.

He wasn't sure what to do. When he made Sam promise not to kill himself, with the assurance he could, if it became necessary, he just never thought Sam would call him on it. And he knew his brother well enough to know if Sam was set on that idea, he'd manage it. Dean was tempted to dose Sam with a sleeping pill, haul out the saline he used to clear the PIK line and let Sam think he'd given him an overdose. A little voice told him Sam's body would probably stop working, just as if he had been given the drugs. _Damn it. _

After leaning there long enough for his leg to start to tingle, he made a decision. They would have dinner, watch TV and play with the freaking monster. If Sam were still dead set on the idea... Dean swallowed. Sam wouldn't ask if he thought there was another way out. They would talk about it again. Then... He left the thought unformed. _If Sam dies_...

It was getting late. Dean pushed himself off the car and walked slowly to the door, as he opened it, he heard Sam and Nate talking quietly.

"He wanted to do this?" Sam said softly.

"Wanted?" Nate snorted. "It was all that kept him going sometimes. As bad as it got after that—and it was bad there for while—it gave him hope."

"Hope," Sam's voice was wistful. "Nate..."

Dean held perfectly still, wanting to hear what came next, but Nate saw him. "Hey, Dean's home, Sam," Nate said. They both looked up, tears on their faces.

"Where've you been?" Sam asked.

"Took a walk," Dean said. "What's going on?"

"We were just talking," Nate gave Sam's hand a squeeze and stood. He walked over and put his hand on Dean's shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. "I'll leave you two. I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah. I might be a little late." Dean walked him to the door and watched as he got into his car and drove off.

"I'm not going back to the hospital, Dean," Sam said quietly.

"I know," Dean said, closing the door. The panic was back, pulsing in his heart.

"Help me up," Sam said softly.

"Okay." Dean walked over and gently pulled Sam to his feet, turning to help him into the bathroom, or wherever else he needed to go. To his surprise, Sam pulled him against his chest in a tight hug. "Sam?" Dean asked, unsure what to do. Was this goodbye? _Oh, god. _

"I'm not going back," Sam whispered.

"I know, Sammy," Dean said, fighting the blossoming panic.

"We'll call Alan..."

"I have enough to take care of it, Sam," he said, tears forming in his eyes.

"And tell him I'm not going back," Sam continued as if Dean hadn't spoken. "He can bring whatever I need here. I won't go back."

"Sam?" Dean pulled away far enough to look in his brother's eyes, but still keep him steady. Sam met his gaze without flinching. "Sammy?" Hope was moving through his body, warring with the panic.

"The infection is going to kill me, I can hardly stand, I can't walk, my left hand barely works," Sam said, his eyes never falling.

"Sam..."

"I need you to promise something."

"What?"

"Don't give up, Dean, please."

"What?" Dean looked at Sam for a moment, hope won the battle in his chest, his heart was pounding against his ribs, but it wasn't panic. "I promise."

"Me, too," Sam said firmly.

Dean pulled his brother against him, biting back a sob. Sam leaned against him, crying quietly, the tears running onto Dean's neck, making it itch. It didn't matter, not right then. Tears were burning in his own eyes as he held Sam, knowing he was supporting most of his brother's weight, knowing the infection was still there, slowly killing Sam, knowing it all, but... "If it ends, we go down fighting?"

"Yeah, Dean, we go down fighting."

_**To Be Continued**_


	14. You Made?

_A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing! Thanks to TraSan_

**Gifts**

**Chapter Fourteen**

**You Made...?**

It was quiet in the kitchen as Dean gathered up the items he'd need to make dinner. He was tempted to just order pizza, it was later than he'd planned, but he wanted to make something special. A soft sound from the living room caused him to stop and glance over at Sam. His brother was asleep in the chair, his eyes still swollen from the tears earlier. _I'm sure my eyes look good. _Dean sighed, it had been a long, long day, and since they were expecting Alan anytime, he suspected it was going to be a lot longer. Sam saying he was willing to fight, and keep fighting, didn't mean the pain would stop, didn't mean the depression would end or that Sam would magically be able to walk when he woke from his nap. It didn't mean any of that.

It meant everything.

Dean picked up the knife and looked at the slimy beige bricks sitting on the cutting board. Pain suddenly burned up his leg. "You freaking..." He pulled the kitten off his shirt—it had managed to climb that far—and dropped it back on the floor. Before he could turn back to what he was doing the kitten climbed up again and, using his thigh as a launching pad, leaped onto the counter. It made a beeline for the cutting board, sniffed what was there and looked up at him with an expression of betrayal on its face. "Yeah, I kinda feel the same way," he said as he started cubing the mass.

_It had been a rough hunt. After days of fruitless research, Sam was getting frustrated. After someone else had died, someone they had interviewed the day before, the frustration gave way to desperation. When they'd finally tracked down the spirit, Sam had been hurt. It wasn't too serious, but that, on top of the hunt, had left him in a bad place. They'd headed out of town before Sam was really ready to travel physically, but Dean decided the ongoing depression outweighed the risk of moving his brother too soon._

_Dean drove almost without a break for nearly twenty hours, putting the Great Plains behind them and heading up into the Rockies. He'd finally stopped in a medium-sized town at a nicer than normal motel. After making sure Sam was settled, he'd gone in search of something to tempt his brother. Sam hadn't been eating much, mostly pushing it around the plate, and that just wouldn't do. _

_The town didn't have all that much to offer, and Dean was getting ready to turn back to the burger place by the motel. He pulled into a gas station to refill the tank and got out, as soon as he opened the door he smelled something that set his mouth to watering. Glancing around, he couldn't locate the source of the smell, there was nothing on the block but a laundry and car wash. After pumping the gas, he headed in to pay—and discovered the source of the delectable smell. There was a food counter in the gas station, a small woman standing in front a miniature stove, she was wearing a name badge that said Jeanie. _

"_What can I get you?" she asked with a smile._

"_Uh," Dean said, looking up at the hand-printed menu. It was an odd combination of various Asian dishes, Mexican and sandwiches. He stared at it, wondering what Sam would eat. "I want the chimichanga with rice and beans and Sam will have... What're you cooking?" _

"_Peanut butter-curried tofu with veggies."_

"_Smells good."_

"_Thanks, my recipe, it's today's special and comes with rice."_

"_I'll take an order of that, too." _

_By the time Dean got back to the motel, he was so hungry he was ready to eat the take-out containers. He opened the door, Sam was on the bed, staring at the TV. The fact the computer wasn't out worried him. He kicked the door closed and carried the food over to his brother. _

"_Eat it before it gets cold," Dean said before Sam could open his mouth and say he wasn't hungry._

_Sam took a bite without speaking. And another, a smile spreading across his face. He reached for the can of soda Dean brought him, took a sip and started back in on the curry. "That was great!" he said, dropping the empty box on the bed. _

_They went to the gas station-restaurant the next day, Sam stared at the menu, then requested the peanut butter tofu. They stayed in town for a week, Sam getting better every day—and every day they'd gone to get food, Dean working his way down the menu, Sam only eating the tofu. _

"_You should try something else," Dean finally said on day five._

"_I like this, Dean, I'd take a year's supply with us if I could," Sam said with a smile._

In preparation for Sam's homecoming, Dean had tracked down the phone number of the gas-station, hoping he could convince Jeanie to give him the recipe. After he'd explained what had happened, she'd not only given him that recipe, but several others as well. He'd thanked her and promised they would stop by the next time they passed through town.

A paw on his hand pulled his attention back to what he was doing. He put the kitten on the floor and gave it a can of cat food, then turned back to the food. Once the vegetables were chopped, he put the skillet on the stove. Jeanie told him the trick to tofu was to make sure the oil was hot. While the pan was heating, he grabbed the curry powder, peanut butter and sauces he would need for the dish. When he turned back to the stove the oil was hot—in fact it was smoking. He quickly lowered the heat on the burner and dropped the tofu in, jumping back as the hot oil splattered. It was easier than he'd thought it would be, the dish coming together quickly once the tofu was cooked.

"Dean?"

"Hey, Sam," Dean said, walking into the living room. "You hungry?"

"Uh, not..." Sam paused. "What smells good?"

"The freaking monster's food, what do you think?" Dean grinned.

"What is it?"

"Surprise."

Sam huffed and rolled his eyes. "Another surprise, Dean?"

"Yep." Dean helped his brother into the kitchen. As soon as Sam was seated, the kitten hopped on the table. "I thought you didn't like it."

"Like what?" Sam asked.

"Dinner, he tried it earlier." Dean dished up the food and set the plate in front of Sam.

"What is this?"

"Peanut butter curried tofu with veggies and rice," Dean said, smiling.

"You made..." Sam broke off, tears bright in his eyes. "Tofu?"

"Yep."

"You made tofu?"

"You said that." Dean served some for himself and sat down at the table. Fim gave him an evil look, so he got up and put a small spoonful of the tofu on a saucer and put it in front of the cat.

"Tofu?"

"Yep. Tofu."

"Really?"

"No, it's actually wildebeest, I hunted it down myself."

"It's tofu!" Sam said, taking a bite.

"I said that." Dean took a forkful and sniffed. _Doesn't smell all that bad. _He took a cautious taste. "Not bad."

"You didn't try it?" Sam asked, the tears still in his eyes.

"Are you kidding, Sammy? It's tofu."

"Yeah," Sam chuckled. "It's good tofu, too."

"Did you know it comes in a bunch of different kinds?"

"What does?"

"Tofu, there's firm, extra firm, silken, soft."

"Were you confused?" Sam was laughing at him.

"Oh hell yeah. Who'd thunk anyone would nned that much tofu." Dean looked at Sam, trying to keep a smile on his face. Even though his brother had the bowl propped on his left hand and was scooping food into his mouth, he was obviously struggling, his hand shaking badly by the third bite. Dean wondered what to do, he pushed his chair out to get up to help, when a look from Sam stopped him. He covered the action by grabbing Fim's now empty saucer and putting two more pieces of tofu on it. "What?" Dean said in answer to Sam's smile. "He likes it."

They'd finished dinner and Sam was back in his chair when someone knocked on the door. "It's probably Alan. I might have forgotten to call him." Sam tensed, Dean gave his arm a pat before answering the door. "Come in."

"Thanks," the doctor said.

"Would you like something to eat? I made tofu."

"You made...? No, I'm not hungry," Alan said, walking into the living room. "I thought you two were coming back."

"No," Sam whispered.

"I told you, Dean." Alan turned on him.

"No," Sam repeated.

"No," Dean said firmly, standing beside Sam's chair. "He stays home."

"Dean," the doctor growled, "this isn't open for discussion."

"I can't," Sam said desperately, his hand fisting in the hem of Dean's shirt.

"You're right, it's not. Sam stays home."

"No." Alan's frown deepened.

"Dean, please." Sam was trembling. Dean gently detached brother's hand from his shirt and patted Sam's chest. "Dean..."

"Do you need a pill?"

"Yeah." Sam took a deep breath. "Can I lay down first?"

"Sure. Can you give me a minute, Alan?" Without waiting for an answer, Dean helped Sam up and into the bedroom. He helped Sam into bed, pulling the blankets over him before opening the locked medicine drawer. Since Sam knew it was there, Dean figured he didn't need to hide it anymore. He shook two pain pills into his hand and carried them back to his brother. "Is this enough?"

"Yeah, thanks." Sam took the pills and picked up the remote for the TV.

"Do you need anything else?"

"I won't go back, Dean."

"I know, Sammy," Dean said gently. "Stupid freaking monster." The kitten had apparently decided the fastest way to Sam's bed was up Dean. "Why does it think I'm a ladder?" Dean grumbled. He waited until Fim was purring happily on Sam's chest before heading back to face Alan.

The doctor was pacing, his angry steps taking him from the living room to the kitchen in four strides. When he noticed Dean, he stopped. "He needs to go back."

"No," Dean said, walking into the kitchen, hoping Sam wouldn't hear the conversation.

"Dean..."

"What did you find out?"

"The infection is getting worse. It looked..." Alan swallowed and looked away.

"I'm sorry about Carrie, Alan."

"Yeah." He took a deep breath. "It looks like the infection just exploded over the last few days." Alan met Dean's eyes. "Which is why Sam needs to go back, he's going to need care."

"Bring whatever he needs here."

"As the infection gets worse, Dean, he's going to need..."

"Whatever it is, I can handle it."

"When he drops into a coma?" Alan snapped.

"If that happens, _if_, we'll deal with that then." _It's not happening, not now, not when Sam has come so far. _

"Dean..."

"No, Alan, Sam asked me to help him die tonight," Dean said, trying to keep his voice steady. He could see the effect of his words, Alan opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it closed. "He changed his mind, but going back... I'm not going to do that to him. He can be home, go to work with me and research. And if there is an answer Sam'll find it."

"I don't know."

"He'll figure it out!" Dean was surprised at the vehemence in his voice. "And he stays here."

Alan looked at him for a long time, then took a deep breath. "Okay, but Dean, if there is an answer, he needs to find it fast."

_Oh god. _"What do you mean?"

"The infection..."

"How long?" Dean snapped. The doctor was silent. "Alan? How long?"

"A week, maybe ten days."

_No. Won't happen. _

_Oh god, Sammy._

**XXX**

Quiet music woke Sam. He lay still until he heard Dean groan and get out of bed, once his brother was gone, Sam opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He'd heard some of the conversation the night before. It was Dean's "Sam'll figure it out" that had caught his attention, before that he'd been focused on the TV, hoping to drown out whatever the doctor said. Sam knew the infection was getting worse, he didn't need to hear how much worse, or how fast it would consume him. Knowing that would take away some of his resolve to keep going. He'd promised Dean, so he had to try. Mostly he just wanted it all to end—despite the promise to fight.

His talk with Nate had helped, maybe more than he was letting himself believe. Sam had been worried about Dean, and had convinced himself that his brother would be happier if the burden Sam was putting on him was gone. Finding out that Dean had willingly done it helped remove some of the crushing guilt that just added to everything else. It didn't take away the pain of the Impala, though. Sam never realized how much he loved the car, it was—always had been—home to him. Besides Dean, the big black car was the one constant in his life. He knew Dean loved the car more than was probably healthy, and the knowledge his brother sold it for him was almost more than Sam could bear.

The sound of the coffee grinder brought Fim put from under the blankets. The kitten stretched, laying one paw on Sam's face before bounding off the bed. Sam chuckled, watching it tear out of the room. A moment later he heard a shout of surprise and pain from his brother.

Pain was creeping up his back, he sighed, he'd need a pain pill in a moment. He hated the things, most days passed in a half-fog, whether he wanted them to or not. While he was in the hospital, he welcomed that time "away" but since he'd come home, he wanted more time out of the fog—and knew he wasn't going to get it. That just added to the depression.

Still he'd promised to fight, and he meant to stick with that. Especially after talking with Dean when the doctor left last night. Dean refused to talk about what Alan had said, instead talking TV, movies, anything but Sam's health, but there had been a desperation in his brother Sam hadn't noticed before. Maybe it had been there all along? _I was just too wrapped up to notice. _It was that desperation, the fear in Dean's eyes that strengthened Sam's resolve to keep going. He didn't really want to, he meant it when he'd asked Dean to help him die. He wasn't fighting for himself, he was fighting because of Dean. He could do that much at least, his brother had given him so much, he could do this. _That way when... At least Dean will know... _

"Sam?" Dean stood in the door.

"Hey."

"I told Nate I'd be in today for while," Dean said, sitting on the edge of Sam's bed and handing him a cup of coffee and a pill. Sam took them, trying to keep his hand from shaking. "Alan is bringing new meds over later, so we can skip the IV this morning."

"Can I take a shower before we go?"

"It's why I set the alarm early." Dean smiled.

"Thanks."

"And if we get in early, there might be some breakfast left. Nancy makes homemade donuts." Dean put his coffee on the stand. "You ready?"

"Yeah."

An hour later, Dean pulled up in front of Nate's shop. The door opened and Nate came out, a broad smile on his face. Dean popped the trunk and Nate pulled the wheelchair out. He waited while Dean walked around the car and opened Sam's door, then held the chair steady while Dean helped him sit down.

"It's good to see you," Nate said as they headed into the shop. "There's quite a mess in there," he chuckled. "Jessie has been swearing under his breath since yesterday."

"What's going on?" Dean asked.

"We have two cars in the bays and one waiting. One of them is a complete rebuild, customer wants it done next week, said he has a rally."

"Rally?"

"Yeah," Nate grinned. "It's a Corvair. I thought you might like a crack at it."

"Oh yeah," Dean said, smiling. "Do you want to sit in the shop or in your office, Sammy?"

"The shop, for awhile?" Sam said. He was touched by the office and looked forward to spending time in there, he just wasn't ready to be alone.

"Do want your laptop?" Dean asked as he helped Sam get settled in the large chair in the shop.

"Dean? What's wrong?" Something about the tone in Dean's voice alerted Sam.

"Nothing, Sammy, I just thought you might want to surf a little."

"Dean?" Sam grabbed his brother's arm as Dean tried to move away. "What did Alan say last night?" It was unfair, asking it right then with Nate standing there waiting for an answer as well.

"He said..." Dean looked away, took a deep breath and turned back. "He said the infection is getting worse."

"I know," Sam offered. "You knew that, too."

"Much worse," Dean grated out.

"Yeah," Sam squeezed Dean's arm and let his hand drop, "I know that, too." He took a breath, the pain was already coming back. _I promised. _"Can I surf in here?"

"Nate has wireless, and you're all set up on the network," Dean said, relief lighting his face. "I made a desk, too."

"A desk?" Sam asked, wondering how he'd manage to sit at a desk as Dean disappeared into the back. He was back a moment later with a board that he set over the chair arms. "Thanks."

"Will that work?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Dean looked so happy Sam couldn't help smiling. His brother waited until Sam had powered on the laptop before starting work on the car.

He watched Dean over the screen while the computer booted up. Sam did have an idea of where to start on his research, the red smoke seemed familiar and he remembered reading a blog on a paranormal site. It was his first stop on the trail. The blogger recorded events very similar to the ones there including the random acts of violence, he mentioned an exorcism with the red smoke. To his disappointment there was nothing about an infection. The blogger mentioned a reference in a book from the nineteenth century, so Sam chased after that lead and before long he was lost in research.

"Sammy?" Dean was shaking him gently.

"What?" Sam opened his eyes.

"You were having a nightmare."

"Oh, how long was I asleep?"

"About an hour," Dean said, frowning at him. "Do you need a pain pill?"

"Yeah, I do, then can you get the stuff I sent to the printer?"

"Yeah." Dean pulled the pill bottle out of his pocket, handed one to Sam and got him a cup of water from the water cooler in the corner. Once Sam had taken the pills, Dean walked into the office to their left and came back with a stack of papers. "You printing an encyclopedia?"

"Sort of," Sam took the papers and leafed through them. As he did, his certainty grew. _I think this is it. _He went through several more pages.

"Sam?" Dean said quietly. Sam was focused on the Latin in front of him. "Sammy?"

"Yeah?" He looked up.

"What?"

"I found it," Sam said, unsure where to go from there.

"Found...?" Dean paled. "The infection?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"And?" Hope and fear warred on Dean's face.

"I think I found an answer, too."

_**To Be Continued**_


	15. Answers

_A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing. I am working to catch up on review replies! Let me give you all a hug as thanks right now though! Thanks to TraSan_

**Gifts**

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Answers**

There was a loud banging from the front of the shop, where Nate and Jessie were working. Someone else was using a pneumatic tool, the tone surprisingly in key with the music that was coming from a speaker on Sam's right. Even with all the other noise, he could hear Dean's ragged breathing. He looked up from the papers he was holding.

"An answer?" Dean whispered, repeating Sam's words.

"I think so," Sam said. Pain shot up his spine, Sam took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, hoping Dean wouldn't notice. He should have known better, Dean laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I tracked it down..."

"Tracked what down?" Dean asked.

"The diakka."

"The diakka?"

"Yeah, I think that's what did this."

"What is it, Sammy?" Dean asked, frowning.

"Well, there's some debate on that." He pointed at the stack of papers. "According to a Spiritualist in the Nineteenth century they're the spirits of 'venial' people. I started there. He was almost right, only they aren't ghosts at all, they're actually a demonic force. Listen to this, it's from a Seventeenth century book by Masters. 'They are unclean spirits, demons that infect the world with their foul touch.' He goes on to talk about serial killings he blames on a person possessed with a diakka, 'we called the priest to rid of us this horror. He performed the exorcism and red smoke poured forth from the man's mouth.' After the exorcism 'a pestilence swept through the town, taking those that had seen the man, that had survived the attacks while the filthy thing inhabited his body.'" Sam looked up at Dean. "There's a ritual they used to 'free their town of the unclean thing' so no one else would die."

"Good work, geek-boy," Dean said with a smile.

"Thanks, Dean." Sam smiled back, despite everything, this felt normal, good. Researching it and trying to find an answer together. He sorted through the papers, his right hand was starting to tremble. He needed to rest, the pain was starting to get to the point he couldn't ignore, even though Dean had just given him a pill.

"You need to lay down, Sammy."

"Stop that."

"Stop what?" Dean grinned.

"I don't want to lay down," Sam said, trying not to whine. _I don't want to go home. _

"Just in the office, I'll help you in there and bring you a coke, okay?"

"The office?" Sam asked confused for a moment, then he remembered the office Dean had set aside for him. "Oh, yeah, there's a bed in there."

"Yep, a fancy hospital bed with a cool hand crank," Dean said, moving the "desk" off the chair arms.

"Fancy? With a hand crank?" Sam braced himself as Dean lifted him lifted him gently into the wheelchair.

"Yep." Dean pushed the chair into the office and helped Sam into the bed. Fussing with the covers, then cranking up the head of the bed for him. "How's that?" When Sam nodded Dean went to the small refrigerator in the opposite corner and pulled out two cans of coke, handed one to Sam and sat in the chair by the bed.

"We need to talk about the ritual, Dean."

"You need to rest for a minute, Sammy," Dean said in his mock-stern voice.

"Oooh, I'm scared now."

"You should be."

"I'm okay, we need to..."

"No." Dean moved and sat on the edge of the bed, putting his hand on Sam's chest. "You need to rest."

"Dean..."

"An hour won't make a difference."

"It might, Dean I..." Sam paused, pain pulsed through his body, he closed his eyes and tried to breathe through it. It kept getting worse, he could hear how harsh his breathing was getting. He fumbled for Dean's hand, needing that anchor as the pain spiraled.

"Sammy?"

"Hurts," he ground out. "Getting worse."

"Everything okay?" Nate's voice asked.

"No," Dean said quietly. Sam focused on their voices, the pain was getting the upper hand.

"Should I call...?"

"NO!" Sam shouted through the agony. "Please."

"Sammy," Dean said desperately.

"No, please," he sobbed, begging his brother to understand. "If I go back, I'll die." He wasn't sure when he'd become convinced of that, but he was now. The pain was hot, burning through his body.

"Call Alan," Dean said.

"Dean, I can't go..."

"He can come here, Sammy, you need something," the desperation in Dean's voice was the only reason Sam nodded his head. "Good." There was silence for a minute, Sam tried focusing on something,

anything to keep him grounded, he was rapidly losing the battle.

"What's going on?" Nate asked, concerned.

"Sam's worse, I don't know… Weird," Dean said suddenly. "Nate?"

"Alan's on his way, Dean."

"Can you bring me my bag?"

"Sure."

"Dean?" Sam whispered, or he tried.

"I've got an idea, Sam. Thanks, Nate. Here." Dean slipped his hand behind Sam's head, steadying him. "Take a sip, Sam, just a little one."

Sam obediently drank a little of the water from the bottle pressed against his lips. It ran down his throat, cooling as it did, then the flowed out through his body, the white-hot pain diminishing for a moment. He reached up to tip Dean's hand to get a more of the water, another sip and the pain lessened again. "Helps," he said.

"Okay, not too much at once though," Dean said gently, tipping more of the water into Sam's mouth.

The pain backed off a little more, enough for Sam to taste the slight salty undertone of the liquid. "Holy water?"

"Yeah. More?"

"Yes," Sam said as the pain started spiking along his spine. He took another sip of the water. The feverish pain was backing off, but it had caused the other to increase. _Make it stop, Dean, please. _

"You should have called 911," Alan said. There was a push against the PIK line, cool liquid running into his arm. "This will help." Another push and warmth started spreading through Sam's limbs, chasing the last of the hot pain away, relaxing his muscles. "Sam?" the doctor asked.

"Thanks," Sam said, opening his eyes, Dean was sitting on the bed, the flask of holy water in his hands and a look of complete panic on his face. _I see the panic, at least, no one else probably does. _

"Sammy?" Dean set the flask aside and put his hand back on Sam's chest.

"It's better," Sam said, blinking slowly, whatever Alan had given him was making him drowsy all of a sudden. He blinked again, or tried to, his eyes stayed closed. "Dn?"

"I'm right here."

"No 'spital."

"No hospital, Sam."

"Prom?"

"Yeah."

"Kay," Sam said and drifted away.

**XXX**

Sam's breathing evened off, Dean stayed sitting on the bed until he was sure his brother was asleep before getting up and ushering Alan and Nate out of Sam's office. He double checked to make sure that Sam hadn't been disturbed, then walked out and pulled the door closed, leaving it open just enough to hear if his brother stirred.

"He needs to be..." Alan began.

"No," Dean said.

"What happened?" Nate asked softly. "Dean?"

"Yeah, what?" Alan growled.

"He's been researching this morning..." Dean took a deep breath and realized his hands were shaking. "Sam thinks he's found an answer to the infection."

"Sam did?" the doctor said with a dubious frown.

"Yeah, he thinks so." Dean paused when he saw the doctor swallow. _Oh god, Carrie. _"Alan..."

"Would it have saved her?" Alan whispered.

"I don't know, Alan, I don't even..." _I don't know if it will save Sam. _

"What did he find?" Nate asked.

"A diakka," Dean said, walking over to the stack of papers Sam had printed out. "It's an unclean spirit, he said he found a ritual to banish it." He picked up the papers and looked at them, flipping through the pages of Latin. "Sam started getting worse when we were talking about it. I think that had something to do with it."

"His getting worse?" Alan said.

"Yeah, his pain. It started getting bad when he was telling me about the diakka." He stopped, looking at the page in front of him. "I guessed right," Dean said, surprised, trying to force away a rush of despair. _Could I have help before now?_

"Guessed? About what?" Nate asked.

"The holy water."

"Holy water?"

"Yeah. They used it before, it helped the victims," he squinted at the page, " 'rest easy in their final hours.'" _Final hours? No, Sammy, not when we are this close. _"It's not a cure. They thought it was at first, but it didn't get rid of the disease." He shuffled through the papers. "Here's part of the ritual. It needs to be done on the dark of the moon." He glanced at the shop calendar. _New moon is tomorrow. Good. _As he read on, his heart fell.

"Dean?" Nate said, putting his hand on Deans shoulder. "What is it?"

"They didn't survive."

"Who didn't?" Alan said, peering over Dean's shoulder.

"The victims, the ones who survived the attacks."

"They have to be wrong!" Nate declared.

"The ritual worked, the diakka never returned, but the victims all died."

"Then what's the point?" Alan said sadly, looking at Dean.

_Because it's Sam, and it might work and Sammy dying is not an option. _"I have to try."

"Dean..." Alan began.

"Is Sam going to make it?" Dean asked bluntly, meeting the doctor's eyes. "Is there anything you can do to save him, Alan?"

"No."

"Then I have to try." Dean put the papers down and waited for the doctor to say something, when Alan remained silent, Dean turned to Nate. "I need to finish some work, do you think Nancy can sit with Sam?" He had to do something, he couldn't just sit around. That had been one of the things about fixing up the apartment, it had been something to do, something to occupy him, something to let him have some control.

"He won't wake up for awhile," Alan said.

"I don't want him to wake up alone, Alan."

"Of course she can, I'll go get her now," Nate said, heading across the shop.

"I'm sorry, Dean," the doctor said when Nate was out of earshot.

"It's not happening, he's going to make it," Dean ground out, trying to keep the panic under control. He could feel his heart slamming against his chest and it was getting hard to breathe.

"Sit down."

"No, I need to... I'm going to work on the car for a little while. I'll call tonight, when we get home." He smiled at the doctor. "Thanks for coming, Alan."

"Anytime, Dean," Alan said gently. "Don't bother to call, I'll stop by, I..." He sighed.

_He's been at the hospital every night with Carrie, and now... _"Yeah, I'll make dinner."

"Not tofu."

"Nope," he grinned.

"Okay, about seven? I'll bring dessert, make sure you have coffee, you'll want it with this."

"Thanks." Dean smiled at Nancy, she was walking towards Sam's office, talking on the phone. She stopped outside and smiled over at Dean. He headed over to the car, wondering what he'd make for dinner, when an idea started to form.

_The winter Sam was fifteen they'd actually managed to stay in the same town for two months. Of course, the fact that Sam had nearly died might have something to do with that. John had settled them in an extended-stay motel that boasted a small, but complete, kitchen including a stove with an oven. Several days after Sam was released from the hospital, their father had set out on a hunt, claiming he'd be back before the next weekend. Dean watched him go with mixed feelings. It was more relaxing without John hovering over Sam, and his brother snapping at him. He knew Sam didn't feel well, and their father felt helpless, Dean did too, but... _

_Once Sam came home, Dean had done his best to keep him eating. However, after the fourth "take and bake" pizza in a row, Sam was starting to refuse food again. Dean was desperate to get his brother to eat, it was vital, Sam had lost weight while he'd been sick and the doctor had been adamant about the importance of Sam putting the weight back on. _

_That morning they had ended up fighting about it. Sam refusing everything, saying it tasted wrong because of the medication, and Dean insisting he eat. Sam had ended up dumping the plate on the floor, and when Dean tried to bring him lunch, he'd refused everything._

_Which made Dean even more desperate to get his brother to eat. He just didn't know what to make._

_Which is how he found himself staring at the women's magazines in the grocery store. They all had food on the cover, most looked appetizing. One caught his eye, he looked around to make sure no one would see him and picked up the magazine. He flipped to the "Quick and Easy Casseroles" article, stopping on the picture of the second dish. It looked good. Searching through his pockets, he found a piece of paper and wrote down the recipe before heading to get the ingredients. _

_It _was _easy, he sliced the potatoes, onions and sausage and layered it in the dish with cheese. It was ready and in the oven before his brother was awake from his afternoon nap. Dean was sitting at the table staring at the TV when Sam came into the kitchen. "You shouldn't be up, Sammy."_

"_It's Sam."_

"_You need to eat, Sammy."_

"_I'm not hungry, Dean. I don't want to eat."_

"_You need to eat." He repeated, trying to keep the "please" out of his voice. Sam glanced at him with a frown, probably hearing it anyway._

"_What's that smell?" his brother said._

"_Smell? I don't smell anything."_

_Sam frowned at him and opened the oven door. "What's that?"_

"_What's it look like?" Dean asked._

"_Not pizza." Sam straightened and swayed. Dean stood, put his hand under his brother's elbow and steered him to the table. "Thanks."_

"_That's why you shouldn't be up." He took the lid off the casserole dish and turned on the broiler to brown the cheese. After a moment, he pulled it out and put it on the table. _

"_What's that?" Sam sniffed at it._

"_Dog food, I added cheese to fool you," Dean said, dishing some onto a plate. "No veggies. Sorry." He put the food in front of Sam and waited. _

_Sam sniffed it again, then picked up a fork and poked at it. "Smells okay." He scooped up a forkful and looked at it, then up at Dean, giving it another, very audible, sniff. "Yeah, smells okay." He took a bite and smiled. "Where did this come from?" Sam asked, taking another forkful._

"_I made it."_

"_You made it?" Sam's eyebrows climbed into his bangs. _

"_Yeah."_

"_Thanks," his brother said quietly. _

_Dean smiled. "Sure, Sammy."_

_Over the years, Dean would cook it when he had a chance. It was better baked, it never tasted the same when he made it in a skillet—or a microwave. But as long as Sam could eat solid food, he would eat the casserole. Once, still deeply under the influence of pain killers, Sam had mumbled something about the food, Dean was never sure what it was, but it sounded a lot like "home." _

Dean tightened a bolt down, running through the ingredients, he had them all, had planned on cooking it for Sam, he just hadn't done it yet. He kicked himself for not making it before. If he sliced the potatoes thin, it would still be done by the time Alan arrived.

"Dean?" Nancy's voice cut into his thoughts. "Sam's awake."

"How is he?" Dean asked, grabbing a shop cloth and wiping his hands.

"He's doing okay. I sent Jessie in to sit with him. Dean, Alan spoke with me about..."

"No, he's not going back, Nancy." He leaned against the car. "I promised."

"Yes, Nate told me. I was thinking, though, you look so tired, Dean. Since Sam has come home, you aren't resting, are you?" She frowned at him, the look full of concern.

"I'm okay," Dean said quietly.

"Why don't you let us come and help? We could sit with Sam, so you could sleep, or give yourself a break."

"I'm okay," he snapped, then smiled. "Maybe later, Nancy."

"That's what I meant. Why don't you and Sam head home?" She peered into the engine. "You've done a good day's work, the sun is out, so you go out and enjoy the rest of the afternoon."

"What'll Nate say?" Dean asked.

"Nate will say 'what a good idea, Nancy.'" She winked at him. "And you will too."

"Nancy," he paused when she put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. "What a good idea," he said with a grin.

"That's the right answer, now pack up your tools, I'll let Nate know you're leaving."

"Thanks," Dean said as he put the tools into the large rolling toolbox and pushed it back against the wall. After stopping by the bathroom to wash the grease off his hands, he headed to Sam's office. He could hear his brother and Jessie talking quietly, and couldn't help smiling when he heard Sam laugh.

"I'll help as much as I can," Sam was saying.

"Really?" Jessie said.

"Yeah."

"Help with what?" Dean said, walking into the office. Sam and Jessie started and Jessie looked guilty.

"Nothing," Sam said with a conspiratorial smile at Jessie.

"I better get back to work on that Camero." Jessie stood. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"Okay! Thanks, Sam. See you later, Dean!" Jessie clapped Dean on the back and walked back into the shop, humming along with the music.

"What's that about, Sammy?"

"Nothing."

"Nancy said we could go," Dean said.

"Don't you have work left to do?"

"Dude, when Nancy says go, you go, trust me. The guys in the shop worry more about her than Nate." Dean chuckled. "We had a guy here, it was while you were still in the hospital, and Nancy told him he needed to work on this Chevelle, he didn't want to and went to Nate to complain." Dean smiled remembering the scene, the mechanic was more than six feet tall, trying to stare down five-foot Nancy. It hadn't worked. The man had been fired on the spot and Nancy chased him out of the shop. "He doesn't work here anymore."

"I like her."

"I do, too. Ready?" Dean gently lifted Sam into the wheelchair and picked up their bags.

"Can we go to the lake?" Sam asked as Dean helped him into the car.

"What?" _It's been so long since he's wanted to do something._

"Lake? Water? Coots?"

"How do you feel?"

"I want to go to the lake, Dean."

"Okay, Sammy." Dean loaded the chair in the trunk and got in the car. He glanced over at his brother. Sam's face was grey, dark circles under his eyes and the tightness of pain around his mouth. "Sammy?"

"Please," Sam said quietly.

"I'm not..."

"We have to." Sam smiled.

"Have to?" Dean pulled out, debating whether they should stop by the lake. Sam wasn't looking good. _But, what if this is our last chance. No. He's going to be okay._

"Yeah, what if the coots are really hungry?"

"_What happens if no one feeds the ducks, Dean?" his ten-year-old brother asked as they threw stale bread at a large group of ducks milling on a lake._

"_You have to feed them, Sammy."_

"_Have to?" Sam asked, his eyes wide._

"_Yeah, if they don't get bread they start eating meat. And people are easiest to catch when you're a duck."_

_Sam laughed. "Then we have to feed them every single day, Dean."_

"_Yep, it's our duty to save the world." Dean grinned at his brother and handed him another sack of bread. _

"You're right," Dean said, pulling into the coffee stand. "We have to go feed the ducks."

"Hi, Dean! I haven't seen you in awhile," the girl said, leaning out of the window. "Is that Sam?"

"Yep."

"Hi, Sam! The usual?"

"Yes, and a vanilla latte for Sam."

"Sure! Pooh left old muffins for you," she said, making the coffees. "And I saved a couple of today's, in case you stopped by."

"The Mish special?"

"I wouldn't save anything else for you," she said, handing him the coffees and two muffins. He handed the muffins to Sam, then took the bag she was holding out.

"Thanks."

"Let me know about the muffins, I tried a new recipe. Triple chocolate. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, we'll stop on the way home."

"Yay! See you then. It was nice meeting you, Sam."

"She's nice," Sam said.

"Everyone who works here is, but yeah, I like her and Pooh the best."

"Oh?" Sam raised his eyebrows.

"No, I haven't dated them." Dean sigh. "What kind of..."

"I know what kind of you are, Dean." Sam took a sip of his coffee, Dean noticed how badly his brother's hand was trembling.

"I was going to say what kind of girls do you think they are?"

"Sure you were."

"Sure I was."

Sam was quiet for the rest of the drive to the lake. Dean kept checking on him, expecting him to be asleep, but Sam was looking out the window with a little frown on his face. When Dean pulled into the handicapped parking spot at the lake, he grabbed the hat and mittens out of the backseat, got the chair and blanket out of the trunk and walked to the passenger side of the car. Sam had the door open and was trying to swing his legs out of the car.

"Sam!" Dean hurried forward when Sam stopped, groaning in pain.

"I'm okay, Dean," Sam said, his jaw clenched. He looked up at Dean, his eyes bright. "Maybe I need to wait to try that."

"This car is a little small for you anyway. You'd need help no matter what," Dean covered smoothly, trying to get rid of the despair in his brother's eyes. He helped Sam out and into the wheelchair, pulled the hat on Sam's head and handed him the mittens.

"You said you would get new ones," Sam said.

"These are new ones, these are purple and have a bunny on them."

"Where did you get mittens in my size with a bunny on them?" A smile tugged at the edge of Sam's mouth, and there was an annoyed note of laughter in his voice.

"The same place I got the others," Dean said. The thrift shop Dean had found them in had several pairs of mittens that looked like they were made for a child but were in Sam's size. He didn't bother to mention to Sam that he'd bought them all.

"I want a new pair—without bunnies on them."

"Okay. Duckies?"

"Duckies? No. No duckies."

"Okay, Sammy, no duckies." Dean grinned.

"Do I want to know?" Sam asked.

"Probably not." Dean tucked the blanket over Sam, put the bag of muffins on his lap and handed his brother the coffees before setting off on the path around the lake.

"The turtles are out," Sam said, pointing at the pair of reptiles sunning themselves on a log.

Dean stopped and they watched the turtles until a cormorant swam too close and the turtles dove under the water. He waited for a few moments to see if they would reappear then started out again. Sam was quiet as they went. When they got to the bench, Dean stopped again, locked the brakes on the chair and walked around to help Sam up.

"I want to try standing, Dean," Sam said quietly.

"You do?" Hope flared so bright in Dean's chest that he had to stop and look away for a moment.

"Dean?"

"Okay, Sammy," he said gently. "I'll lift..."

"No, I want to try standing up by myself."

"Let's wait a couple of days on that, Sam. It takes a lot of muscles to stand," he said, remembering the lectures he'd gotten while learning the physical therapy to help Sam.

"Oh." The light went out of Sam's eyes.

"Tell you what, we'll do an assisted stand, how's that? Half you, half me?"

"Yeah. That would work."

"Okay." Dean put his hands on Sam's waist and his brother grabbed Dean's upper arms. Sam's right hand had a fairly good grip, but his left hand barely curled around Dean's arm. _He needs to try. _"On three. You count it off."

"One." Sam took a deep breath. "Two." His hands tightened and Dean felt his muscles tense. "Three." And Sam tried to stand. Dean heard his brother's breath hitch in pain, but Sam struggle to stand. Dean lifted him, knowing he was doing most of the work. By the time Sam was upright, tears were streaming down his face and he was sweating.

"You did it!" Dean said, steadying him.

"Yeah." Sam looked over the lake. "Let me stand for a minute, Dean."

"Yep," Dean said, moving his hands away, but staying close enough to catch Sam. He was breathing hard, too. _He did it, he did it! _Dean counted the seconds off silently. He wouldn't let Sam stand too long. He'd made it to seventy-five when Sam started to sag. Dean helped him to the bench, got the blanket, tucked it around his brother, and sat down. Sam shifted a little so their shoulders were in contact. "Good job, Sammy," Dean said softly. "Here come the coots."

They sat together in companionable silence, feeding the waterfowl the stale muffins, then sipping their coffee. The sun sparkled on the water and despite a cold wind, it was warm in the sunlight. From somewhere behind them Dean could hear a squirrel chattering at something, its tone offended. He chuckled and glanced at his brother. He fished in his pocket and handed Sam a pill. His brother took it without comment.

"We need to talk about the ritual," Sam said a few minutes later.

"Yeah, we do." Dean sighed. "I read some of the stuff you'd printed out."

"The part about the victims not surviving?"

"Yeah."

"I read that too," Sam said quietly.

"Sam, you're going to be okay, I promised."

"I know, Dean, and I might be."

"What?"

"I read the accounts, it seems like the victims all died from shock—or the infection."

"Yeah?" Dean took a deep breath, the tightness of panic starting in his chest again.

"I think if they'd had access to modern medicine, they would have survived. I have IV antibiotics right now, and we could ask if Alan could be there for the ritual."

"You think?" Dean's heart accelerated. _Okay, need to calm down, no freaking in front of Sammy. _

"Yeah. I read through the ritual, too, Dean, and..."

"And?"

"It's not me I'm worried about."

"What?"

"It's you."

_**To Be Continued**_


	16. Making Breakfast

_A/N: Sorry this has taken so long. Real life has been pesky. I won't keep you waiting this long for the next chapter. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I promise I am catching up on replies. If all else fails, I'll have the real Fim help, so if you get odd looking replies, it's all his fault! Thank you to TraSan._

**Gifts**

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Making Breakfast**

Something sharp poked at his hand. Dean pulled it away, shifting in bed, an instant later something was scratching his nose. He pulled his head away, it backed off then poked at his forehead. "No," he said, batting at it. "No." Something soft was pushed against his hand, a little body flopped on his head and started purring. Dean chuckled as Fim decided that his head wasn't the best place to rest and got up to flop onto Dean's chest, rolling over so Dean could scratch the kitten's stomach. Fim was kneading the air, paws too big for its body opening and closing, its entire body trembling with the purr.

Dean opened his eyes with a sigh, still scratching the kitten. It had been a long night, after dinner with Alan and Sam, his brother and the doctor had exchanged angry words. Alan was insisting that Sam return to the hospital the next day before Dean went to the cemetery to perform the ritual to get rid of the diakka. His brother refused to go and in the end Alan's insistence had triggered something like a panic attack, leaving Sam gasping for breath and in pain. The doctor had apologized, helped Dean get Sam into bed and sat with him long enough to make sure he was okay. Alan was still adamant about Sam returning to the hospital the next evening during the ritual when he'd left after midnight.

Once the doctor had left, Dean tried to get some sleep, knowing he'd need everything, and maybe a little more for the ritual. The nightmare of Sam getting shot played over and over again. At one point Dean had shouted his brother's name and Sam answered with a mumbled query, still too out of it to really be aware. After that, Dean stared at the TV until nearly dawn, learning more than he ever needed to know about exercise equipment, fad diets and cooking gadgets. Sometime right before sleep had finally claimed him again, he'd decided the best way to make money would be to come up with an all in one diet, gadget and exercise machine and then make his own infomercial.

A sharp pain on his hand brought his attention back to Fim. The kitten had a hold of his hand, tiny teeth digging into the soft flesh between his thumb and finger. He watched for a moment as it gnawed furiously at his hand, then pushed it away and got up. Fim launched himself off the bed and raced out the door. When Dean didn't immediately follow, it was back, crawling up Sam's bed and looking from Dean to his brother like it was considering who was a softer touch. A soft snore from Sam made up its mind. It started across the bed towards Dean, with a sigh he picked it up and carried it out of the bedroom before it could wake Sam.

Fim squirmed free when they got to the kitchen and stood in front of the refrigerator, tail wiggling and stomping up and down with its front feet. Despite the lack of sleep, worry and a horrible foreboding about the ritual, he laughed. It started as a chuckle, but when he got the can of cat food out and the kitten attacked the can—before he'd even opened it, dancing on its hind legs to grab a hold of it—the chuckle became an actual laugh.

He put the food on the floor and got coffee brewing before heading back to check on Sam. His brother was still asleep, the lines of pain apparent on his face even in sleep. _Ah, Sammy. _The ever-present worry was ramping up towards despair. Dean had gone through the ritual several times after Sam had fallen asleep and the fact the victims didn't survive, any of them, was haunting him. He decided not to take a shower, not wanting to wake Sam yet and wandered back into the kitchen. Dean poured himself a cup of coffee and opened the fridge, staring in, hoping inspiration for breakfast would suddenly appear on the shelves.

"Dean?"

"Coming, Sammy." Dean closed the fridge and headed back towards the bedroom. Fim raced ahead and was crawling up Sam's bed as Dean reached the room. The kitten bounded up his brother's body, stopping to paw at his nose before flopping over. "How're you feeling?"

"Okay," Sam said, struggling to sit up. Dean slid a hand behind his back and helped him, then slipped the oxygen off his face. Sam blinked and frowned at him. "Have you taken a shower?"

"Yep, I've decided to start doing my hair this way."

"The bed head look?"

"Yep. It's all the rage and easy to take care of."

"Good idea." Sam smiled. "Dean?"

"I didn't want to wake you. Do you want coffee?"

"Can I sit in the kitchen with Fim?"

Dean frowned, he didn't like the idea of not being able to hear Sam while he was in the shower. The look on Sam's face decided him. He got the wheelchair gently helped his brother settle in, Fim jumped onto his lap, ready for the ride and Dean pushed them into the kitchen. The kitten jumped onto the table, inspecting the cup as Dean poured a cup of coffee. It stuck its nose into the cup and made a little gagging sound after a lap of the liquid.

"You sure you'll be okay?"

"Dean? It's the kitchen, what can happen?" Sam's smile faded as Dean remained silent. "Nothing is going to happen. I promised," he said, sounding completely defeated.

"Sam, hey." Dean put a hand on his shoulder. "That's not what I was thinking about, it's just..."

"Okay," Sam said, beaming at him with the full-blast smile. "Fim will keep an eye on me, what could happen?"

"I don't even want to think what that freaking monster might do." Dean sighed. "I'll be right back." He walked slowly out of the room, resisting the urge to look back when he heard Sam talking to the kitten. It was the fastest shower on record, Dean was in and out before the water had really gotten a chance to warm up. He got dressed and stepped back in the living room, stopping dead when he looked into the kitchen.

There were two bowls on the table, Fim stretched out between them, pawing at the corner of the milk carton. Sam had maneuvered the wheelchair in front of the counter and had the cupboard open, looking up at the boxes of cereal. At first Sam tried reaching up to grab a box, it was too far. Dean resisted the urge to run and help, sensing his brother's determination. Sam started opening drawers, then pulled out the tongs. Once again he tried to get a hold of the box of cereal, but he didn't have the strength to grab it with the tongs. Sam set the tongs on the counter and sighed. Dean could read defeat and despair in every line of his brother's shoulders.

Then to Dean's surprise Sam chuckled softly and opened another drawer and pulled out a large butcher knife. Dean held his breath as Sam poked the box with the point of the knife and pulled it towards the edge of the shelf before pulling it until it unbalanced and fell from the cupboard. Sam turned towards the table, the box on his lap a smile on his face. He noticed Dean and the smile broadened. "I made breakfast, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean said, meeting Sam's eyes. He was surprised by the lump in his throat, but once he realized the lump was there, he wasn't surprised at the burning tears in his eyes. Hope pounded through him, warming him.

A spoon clattered to the floor, Sam sighed. "Fim helped."

"I bet." Dean chuckled and walked over to the table. He poured them both another cup of coffee before sitting down.

"Can we go for a drive?" Sam asked as they ate their cereal.

"A drive? Where?"

Sam shrugged. "Just anywhere?"

"Just anywhere?" Dean smiled. Over the years it was the way Sam dealt with Dean when he was nervous, or irritable or ill. Go for a drive. They had spent most of their life on the road and Sam understood that the car, that the highway, came closer to home for Dean than nearly anything.

"_Where are you going, Dean?" his fifteen-year-old brother asked as Dean headed towards the door._

"_Out," Dean snapped._

"_Out where?" Sam persisted, getting up from the table and walking to where Dean stood with his hand on the door knob._

"_I don't know."_

"_Should you be going out?"_

"_I can take care of myself," he said, unconsciously shifting the arm in the sling. He hated it, but the torn shoulder had to be kept as still as possible—or so the doctor, his father and Sam and Bobby and everyone else kept telling him. He was at the point of screaming at someone. _

"_I know you can," Sam said softly. "I just... Want to take a drive?"_

"_A drive?"_

"_Yeah, I need to practice for my driver's exam and we can pick up tacos or something on the way back and..." Sam rushed the words so they came out almost almost like one._

_Dean smiled as he realized what Sam was offering him. A way to escape for awhile without breaking the promise he'd take it easy and take care of his shoulder. "Sure, Sammy."_

"_Where do you want to go?" Sam asked, picking up the keys from the table._

"_I don't know. Just anywhere."_

**XXX**

There were trees along the side of the road. A dense forest reaching from the pavement as far Sam could see. It amazed him how quickly buildings had given way to the trees, there had been very little segue, just one moment in town, Dean followed the right hand side of a Y and they were in the middle of a forest. Barbed wire ran along part of the right of way, it was not a continuous line, it broke every once and awhile for no reason Sam could see.

Pain was creeping along his back, making it uncomfortable to sit still. He shifted in the seat and felt Dean's eyes on him for a moment, the question unspoken. "Not yet," Sam answered the look. It wasn't quite a lie, he needed the pain meds, but he wasn't ready for the fuzziness that accompanied them. If this was their last chance to be out like this, Sam wanted to be there as long as he could.

"Where are we?" Sam asked.

"What?" Dean shouted over the stereo.

"Where are we?"

"I have no idea." Dean looked out the window and turned down the music. "Is that an ant hill?" He pointed at a large brown pile just off the road.

"Yeah, that's the fifth one we've passed."

"Dude, it's huge. 'I do not negotiate with ants.'"

"What?"

"It was in a movie the other night. There were killer ants and..."

"Killer ants?"

"Oh hell yeah, ants are scary."

"Giant ants?"

"No, little ones, even scarier."

"Little ants are scary?"

"Are you kidding, Sammy? Of course they are. They climb in your ears and your nose and..." Dean trailed off with a shudder. "Scary, and gross, I saw this documentary once... Hey, are you hungry?"

"You want to eat ants?" Sam chuckled.

"No, I think there's a town coming up. We could stop and get something to eat," Dean said hopefully.

"I don't know." He hadn't been in a restaurant since that night and he had only eaten around, Dean the hospital staff, and Dean's co-workers at the garage. _Am I ready to be a spectacle? _Sam wasn't sure he was ready for that. People would stare, his right hand tired quickly and his left was useless. Dean would have to wheel him in. He took a breath, staring at his hands and bit back tears, wondering how to put all that into a sentence that Dean wouldn't interrupt.

"We are so eating," Dean said before Sam could say anything. The car slowed.

"Dean," he began.

"We are so eating here, check it out, Sammy." There was a grin in Dean's voice.

"What?" Sam looked up, they were pulling into an old-fashioned drive up restaurant, several car hops in a very short pink skirts were roller skating from car to car.

One of the girls saw them and skated over to an open spot and waited while they pulled in. Sam glanced at the menu hanging from a pole on his side of the car. While he was deciding his phone rang. He managed to get it out of his pocket before it went to voice mail. "Hello?"

"Sam? It's Jessie."

"Hey. Jessie."

"Mom said you and Dean wouldn't be in today, but would it be okay to start tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" _Assuming I even make it through tonight? _"Yeah, we can start tomorrow, but I might be a little late."

"It's okay, I have to work in the morning, but after lunch?"

"Sure, after lunch sounds great."

"I'll be there books in hand."

"See you then." Sam broke the connection.

"I ordered food," Dean said, turning in the seat to look at him. "What's Jessie want?"

"Nothing," Sam answered a little too quickly, Dean frowned at him. "I offered to help him with something."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Sam?"

"He asked me not to say, okay?" Sam snapped. The pain was finally getting to the point where he couldn't ignore it.

"Okay." Dean nodded and pulled out a bottle of pills from his pocket. "Don't argue, just take one."

"I don't want to, Dean, I..."

"Only one, Sammy, please?"

One wasn't too bad. "Okay," Sam said, taking the pill from Dean. He took it dry, grimacing at the bitter taste.

"She was coming right back with cokes." Dean's voice was light, but he was frowning in concern.

"Oh, yeah." He took a deep breath, willing the pill to work faster, hoping he hadn't let it actually go too long. Sam leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. He was worried about the ritual and he knew his brother hadn't slept the night before. There was vague memory of Dean shouting his name buried in the fog left over from drugged sleep—and it had been drugged. Alan had slipped him something when Dean left the room to get the doctor a cup of coffee.

They'd all been stressed. Alan insisting Sam return to the hospital, and Dean worrying about the ritual. Sam knew his brother had been going over and over the ritual, there had been papers all over Dean's bed and the bedside table—one or two showing damage no doubt done by Fim.

And Sam was worried—close to frantic—about Dean. The ritual was every bit as dangerous for his brother as it would be for him. Maybe more so, the diakka would resist and, according to the account Sam had read, it would try to attack Dean. At the very least Dean would be injured if that happened, more likely it would either kill him out right or infect him with the same infection that was killing Sam.

The fact he might die in the process didn't bother Sam as it much as maybe it should. Even though he had promised his brother he'd try—and he planned on sticking by that as well as he could—he knew it was a long, long road ahead of him, even with the infection gone. The pain wouldn't just end, he knew that too, and sometimes it was still too much. _Will it ever end? _He felt a tear trickle down his cheek.

"Hey," Dean said softly, laying his hand on Sam's chest.

"What?" Sam tried to speak around the lump in his throat.

"It's going to be okay."

Sam chuckled bitterly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah it is."

"Dean..."

"I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but now that we know about the diakka, we can deal with it."

"We?"

"We, Sammy. And once that's done, we'll worry about the rest. We're going to get through this, you hear me?"

Sam opened his eyes and looked over at his brother. Dean's eyes were bright with unshed tears, determination sparkling there as well. "Yeah, I hear you." Sam covered Dean's hand with his own.

"Good." Dean patted his chest and turned to the window as the car hop brought their food. "The kids' meal is for him," Dean told her with a wave of his hand.

"Him?" She eyed Sam with an odd look.

"He's younger than he looks and gets really cranky if he doesn't get his toy."

"Um, okay." She skated around the car and Dean powered down the window on Sam's side. "The toy is in the box."

"Thanks." He took the bag from her and waited till she left before turning to his brother. "I'm cranky?"

"You are," Dean said, happily digging through his bag of food. "Bitch."

"Jerk." The exchange felt so normal, so right, that Sam felt a tiny glow of hope in his chest warming him, despite everything that was he knew was coming that night.

_**To Be Continued**_

_A/N II: The ritual is coming next chapter, but Sam and Dean were insisting they have a day. And when they get insistent they get stubborn. _


	17. The Biggest Gift

_A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing. Thanks to TraSan._

**Gifts**

**Chapter Seventeen**

**The Biggest Gift**

The apartment was quiet except for the rattle of dishes in the kitchen. Sam leaned back into the warmth of the recliner, letting the heat soothe the pain radiating through his body. He'd pushed it too long, not wanting to take another pain pill, and now he was paying the price. They'd arrived home about half an hour before; after eating their burgers, Dean had driven further along the rural road south of the restaurant, sensing that Sam didn't want to head back yet. Sam suspected his brother felt the same.

When they'd pulled up in the driveway, Dean had helped Sam out of the Nissan and pushed him into the apartment, insisting that he needed to rest. Sam had resisted, but as soon as Dean settled him in the recliner his body had other ideas and his eyes closed. He wasn't asleep, but he couldn't get his eyes to open. Fim crawled up on his chest and started kneading, his tiny claws offering a distraction from the mind-numbing pain throbbing through his body. Maybe he should ask Dean for something, but the ritual was fast approaching and he didn't want to miss any time with his brother, just in case.

Dean put his hand on Sam's forehead. "Sammy? You let get bad, didn't you?" he asked gently. Without waiting for an answer, Dean walked out of the room, Sam could hear him in the bedroom and a moment later there was a cool push against the PIK line and then the warmth of something else. The meds took the sharp edge off quickly, then a slow warmth followed, Sam didn't try to fight it as it spread through his body. _Why did I wait so long to ask? Is it because I still..._

"Hey," Dean said softly.

"What?" Sam opened his eyes, to his surprise they opened easily.

"It's going to be okay."

"Dean," he began, not wanting to sound like a broken record, but he was beginning to think his brother was pinning too much hope on the ritual.

"I know, Sammy, it's not just that. You've come so far, proven everything they've told me wrong. Not long ago they said there was no hope," Dean said, frowning, his eyes bright.

"What if I'm never okay, Dean? What if this is as good as it gets?"

Dean put his hand on Sam's arm. "If this is as good as it gets? What do you mean? The pain?"

"The pain, everything. What if I can never really walk again or my left arm doesn't heal?"

"The pain will get better," Dean said earnestly. "Alan said a lot of that is from the infection, and Sammy, you haven't been out for long and you've been doing a lot and..." Dean stopped himself with a deep breath. "You will get better."

"And if not?"

"No not, Sam."

"Dean..."

"You will get better." Dean's voice was fierce. "And if you can't walk, or use your left arm, you will still get better. The pain will go away and you will be better. I don't give a damn about your legs, Sam. I just..." He stood and walked to the door to the garden and stood with his back to Sam.

"Dean?" Sam asked. "Just what? Just WHAT?" he shouted, suddenly angry. "I'm fucking useless. I can't even reach the cereal in the cupboard. I can't help you tonight, I can't hunt. I can't even get myself out of BED!" The kitten took off with that last word, tearing into the kitchen and hiding under the edge of a cabinet. "So, what, Dean? Just what? This could be forever. Me like this. So WHAT, DEAN?" Desperation curled through him. He'd said it, finally said it. "Like this, Dean, having to care for me, having to do everything. I AM A BURDEN. SO JUST WHAT?" he shouted so loud a muscle spasmed in his chest, even with the pain medicine in his system.

His brother's shoulders had jerked with each word, like every one was a blow. With the last shout, Dean slumped and rested his head on the glass door. "Sammy." Dean shook his head, still leaning against the door.

"What?" he said through clenched teeth, trying not to betray what he'd just done to himself as he'd yelled at his brother. It just proved his point to himself. _Let it end. _

"I..." Dean stopped and slammed a hand against the door. He turned. "What the hell, Sam? What did you do?"

"Shouldn't yell," he gasped out, closing his eyes so he could try and stop the agony.

"Yeah," Dean said crisply. "You should have learned that lesson awhile ago." The strained chuckle didn't fool Sam.

He heard Dean go into the bedroom. It was too soon for another dose of pain meds so he had no idea what his brother was doing. He listened to footsteps crossing the room, the microwave whirred into life, then beeped. Sam ground his teeth together, fighting the pain and suddenly there was something hot on his chest, the warmth easing the spasms. Dean's hand was resting on top of whatever he'd put down. "Breathe, Sammy."

Sam nodded, letting the heat relax him, taking slow deep breaths the way Dean had shown him years before. "Thanks," he said as the worst of the pain backed off.

"You did a number on the freaking monster. It's in the kitchen hissing."

"Sorry." Sam opened his eyes. Dean was perched on the arm of the recliner, tears in his eyes. Sam looked down at the towel on his chest then back to his brother.

"The old hot towel trick," Dean said hoarsely. "Always works."

"Yeah. Dean, tonight, I can't help. You shouldn't..."

"Sam," Dean said. Sam recognized his brother's 'you are going to hear me out and agree' voice. "Will it go after other people?"

He hadn't considered that. "It might, you're right."

"Oh, so I can face it for other people but not you?" Dean's jaw worked. "Son of a bitch, Sam. I swear..." He shook his head. "I need to grab my stuff and get ready to go, Alan will be here soon."

Sam sighed, but didn't try to stop Dean. He really had no idea where his own anger was coming from, the pain, the infection, fear for his brother—all of it crashing into his own fear of helplessness, that sense of being a burden on Dean, maybe that was it. Maybe it was the diakka sensing something was coming. He didn't know. He did know he couldn't leave it that way with Dean. Not when they might not make it through the night.

Someone knocked at the door and Dean stomped through the apartment to answer it, not even looking at Sam as he passed, from the set of his shoulders Sam could see Dean was angry, hurt and more than a little scared. He's seen in a lot in his life, although he wasn't sure exactly when he'd realized that "scared" was a big part of the anger Dean directed towards him sometimes.

"Alan! Good. Nate? Nancy? What are you doing here?" Dean asked, stepping aside to let them in the door.

"We decided you didn't get to go alone. You need someone to drive," Nate said, smiling at Sam as he came in. "And Nancy wanted to keep Sam and Alan company."

"Don't even open your mouth, Dean. This is what's happening, so just say 'yes ma'am.'" Nancy carried something into the kitchen and turned to Dean with a stern look on her face.

"Uh, yes, ma'am." Dean smiled at her and closed the door. "If you're driving, we need to get going, Nate." Dean picked up his bag.

"Dean," Sam said softly.

"Just a sec," his brother said to Nate, and handed the man his bag. He walked over, sat on the chair arm again and put his hand on Sam's chest. "I don't care, Sammy. If we never hunt again, if you can't ever walk more than you can right now, I don't care. You're here. That's what matters. The rest will work out. And, Sam, I don't care if the diakka was going to eat New York, I'm not doing it for anyone else, you have to know that. You are not a burden, you're my brother. Simple." He patted Sam's chest and stood. "We can talk about everything else in the morning." Tears shimmered on Dean's face. "At least think about it, okay? Getting better?"

"Yeah." Sam felt tears burning in his own eyes. "Be careful." It was lame, but it was the best he could do without breaking in front of Dean.

"Always am. You, too." He smiled, the tiny half smile Sam knew so well, the one that warmed his eyes. He nodded and turned away. "Let's get this done," he said to Nate and walked out the door without a backward glance.

Sam waited until he heard an engine roar to life—it had the same throaty purr as the Impala—before he let the tears go. Nancy came over and pulled him into her arms and he leaned against her, Dean's words echoing in his head.

**XXX**

The moon was red, hanging low in the sky as they headed out of town. Dean ran over the ritual one more time while listening to the music Nate had on the stereo. Part of his mind going through the lyrics as he made final notes, his hand shaking as he hummed along with Iron Maiden.

"We're getting close, Dean," Nate said, breaking into his thought.

Dean looked up, it was dark, only a single streetlamp shining at the intersection. Beyond that the cemetery stretched for several blocks, unlit, but somehow the dark was oddly comforting. This was normal, what he'd spent most of his life dealing with and, as dangerous as the ritual was, this felt less threatening than anything in the last few weeks. It was simple, straightforward. Find the evil, kill the evil. It made sense, more than that, it gave him a feeling of being in control, this was his element, it was what he did, in a large way, it was who he was, and the fact he could use this to help Sam made it even better. _Please let it help Sam. _

He tucked the paper he'd made his notes on in his pocket and grabbed his bag, looking through it, making sure he had everything. Nate pulled into the dark lane that ran through the graveyard, Dean watching as oaks and fir trees went by, the faint light from the city casting enough of a glow to see the edges of the pavement.

"Stop here," he said as one large tree came into view, its limbs blackened, stretching out over the road.

"Here?" Nate looked over at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yep."

"How?"

"I don't know, gut instinct, this is where I need to get out." He had his hand on the door as Nate pulled the car to a stop. "Wait here."

"Dean..."

"Stay here," Dean growled. "I can't do this if I have to keep an eye on you."

"I understand." Nate still got out of the car when Dean did, leaning on the car, looking into the night. "Shout if you need anything."

"Thank you."

"Sure," Nate smiled.

"No, Nate, thank you. For everything. If this thing goes south, keep your promise about flowers for Sam, okay?"

"For you too, Dean," the other man said quietly. "But we won't need it."

"Yeah." Dean grabbed his bag, turned on his flashlight and headed out, following a line of dead vegetation deep into the graveyard. There were signs the cemetery staff had tried to deal with the brown plants, in several places flowers had obviously been replanted, and their fresh blooms were brown or black, dead leaves adding to the soft whispers in the night. He wound through the gravestones, some large headstones, others merely plaques in the ground. A sense of cold fear began curling through him, tying a knot in his neck. He rolled his shoulders, flashing his light around. It cast weird shadows, but he'd found the place. Four dead trees surrounded a single headstone. The grass was dead, crackling under his feet as he stepped forward.

He put the bag down and started getting out the items he'd need. Dean was nervous, the ritual skirted very close to something dark. The priest had noted that what it took to get rid of the diakka was almost as frightening as the spirit itself. It had been one of the things that had been worrying Sam, he knew that. Dean tried to calm his brother by making a crack about "people back then" and it would be fine. All his reassurances to Sam couldn't stop the panic in Dean's chest when he thought of the description of what happened to the victims of the diakka. He hoped Sam was right about modern medicine, he hoped Sam would... _Just try, Sammy, please. _

"Here we go," Dean said, looking around him.

Taking a deep breath, he lit the candles, picked up the silver knife, pulled out his cheat sheet and started drawing the intricate pattern on the ground. When he finished, he walked to the center, sliced his hand and let the blood drip on a black candle. After counting thirteen drops, he set the candle at his feet and lit it, slowly reciting the first part of the ritual, the Latin coming easier than he'd expected.

He heard it coming, moving towards him, the sighing of the wind changing as it approached. Icy cold whipped around him as the dark red smoke appeared, circling the edge of his design, its form changing from smoke to a fleeting solid then back again. Dean pulled a bottle of holy water out of his pocket and started on the second part of the ritual.

It didn't like it. The diakka came at him, slamming into him and knocking him into the headstone. Pain shot through his back, but he kept the Latin going as it picked him up and threw him across the design and into one of the trees. Dean pushed himself up with a groan and walked back to where the black candle was still burning, sprinkling holy water on the ground, finishing the second part of the ritual.

This was where it could get bad.

A strange inhuman shriek started issuing from the diakka. It spun around him, tendrils reaching out to whip across his face, his back, knocking him off his feet and waiting for him to get up before attacking again. Fighting against it, Dean retrieved the last items from the small pile he'd made before he began. It knew what was coming and stepped up the attack. Dean ignored it as best as he could until part of it broke away, the intentions of that wisp of blood red smoke as clear as if it had told him.

"Sammy! Hang on!" he shouted after it and dove back towards the pattern. He lit the final candles, chanting the last part of the ritual as the diakka paused at the edge of the small pool of light the candles cast. Dean splashed holy water on the ground in front of it. The shriek increased in volume, warning him of the attack before it came.

It picked him up, a tendril of blood-red smoke wrapping around his neck, cutting his air off. There were still a few lines left of Latin and he knew he had to hurry. The ability to feel his fingers was disappearing as the need for air became desperate. Silently reciting the last of the ritual, he lifted his cut hand, poured holy water over it to mix with the blood, then pushed his hand into the center of the diakka.

It dropped him to the ground, pressing down on him. He thought he felt a rib crack as it writhed, light begin to appear in it, like the first stars on a winter night. Cold filled him as it screamed, the small sparks becoming larger until they joined together in one shining sun—then blasted apart, the explosion lighting the graveyard for an instant disappearing into nothingness.

Dean tried to get up, he couldn't, something felt wrong. He let his head drop down and stared at the red moon through the branches of the dead trees.

"Dean!" Nate's shout reached him sometime later. "Dean!" The beam of a flashlight swung around the graveyard, shadows moving as if they were alive.

"Here!" Dean said, surprised at how weak his voice sounded.

"Dean?" The crashing footsteps paused.

"Over here." He rolled over and got a hand down, using it to push himself up.

"My god!" Nate whispered, wrapping a hand around Dean's arm and pulling him gently to his feet. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Alan called." Nate's eyes were sad. "They transported Sam."

"Is he okay?"

"I don't know, Dean. I saw the explosion and told him to call back."

"Call him." He realized Nate was getting fuzzy. Dean blinked at him and took a step to head back towards the car, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

"Dean!" He heard Nate's shout but it was canceled out when the ground suddenly approached him at high speed.

Sound and light replaced the dark silence of the cemetery. Dean opened his eyes and looked up at a white tiled ceiling. He shifted in the bed, a sharp ache in his side, his throat burning. Coughing, he spotted a cup on a tray beside him. He reached for it.

"Dean?" Nate said, grabbing the cup and handing it to him. "Thank god."

"Thanks." Dean looked at the light against the curtains. "Is it morning?"

"Yes, you slept most of the night. Alan gave you something so you could, I think."

"Sam?"

"Alive."

"But?" Dean could see a "but" on the other's face.

"He's not...He's, Dean, Alan said... Sam's..." Nate swallowed. "He's still unconscious."

"I have to see him." Dean sat up. "Do I have a broken rib?"

"You should have asked that before you sat up," Alan said from the doorway.

"What happened to Sam? Where is he? I need to see him!"

"One thing at a time, Dean," the doctor said.

"I need to see Sam." Dean swung his legs over the bed and stood. "You might as well show me the way."

"He's just down the hall, Dean." Nate took Dean's arm to steady him.

Alan led the way to Sam's room. Dean paused on the threshold, not sure if he was ready for this. Walking in, he tried to stop the sudden spiral of panic in his chest. _Oh god, Sammy. _His brother looked as bad as he had right after the shooting, his face pale, the monitors over his head telling Dean his brother was in crisis. "What happened?" Dean whispered.

"It got bad," Alan said quietly. "Dean..."

"What?" _Don't say it. _

"He's not going to wake up this time."

"Yes he will," Dean growled, walking to the bed and putting himself between Sam and the doctor. "He will." Tears filled his eyes as he faced Alan.

"I'm sorry." Alan stood there for a moment longer and walked out.

"No, don't listen, Sammy, don't." Dean dropped into the chair beside the bed, his eyes focused on Sam.

The staff changed shift at noon.

"Please, Sam."

Nate and Nancy came in with coffee and left. Alan checked on Sam and spoke to Dean, the words didn't register, just a buzz of pain. Nurses came and went.

"It's gone, Sam."

Jessie came by and tried to get Dean to eat, but he wouldn't leave. Jessie sat with him for an hour, then left. Dean heard him speaking to someone at the door, but it didn't matter. The light on the curtains disappeared, shift changed again.

Alan came by again and tried to convince Dean to leave and come back in the morning. Dean refused. The doctor shook his head and left. The sounds of the hospital changed, becoming quieter in the dark hours. Dean was getting sleepy, fighting the urge to close his eyes, he leaned back in the chair, tears on his face, they'd been there forever as far as he knew. He wanted his brother, needed Sam to wake up, wanted him to fight. Please was becoming the only word he knew. He'd meant everything he said to Sam, he hoped his brother knew that, hoped that... _Oh god, Sammy. _

The small spark of hope that had started the day before when he'd watched his brother making breakfast was slowly extinguishing as the night went on and the nurses smiled at him with sad sympathy. _No. _

"Dean?" Barely a whisper.

He turned, Sam's eyes were open, looking at him. "Sammy?" he choked out, the word catching on an ache in his throat.

"Hey," Sam answered.

It was real. Dean moved, grabbing Sam and pulling him into a tight hug. "Sam," he whispered.

"Dean," Sam's voice was muffled against his shoulder.

Dean pulled back and gently lowered Sam to the bed, putting his hand on his brother's chest. "Hey."

"The diakka?"

"Gone, Sam."

"I thought about what you said," Sam said quietly. "And you're right."

Dean held his breath.

"I might not be able to walk."

Tears burned in Dean's eyes.

"I might not be able to hunt much."

The tears broke loose and ran over his face.

"No matter what it means..."

"Sam?" Hope was back, flaring in his chest, making it ache.

"I'm going to try to get better."

"You will, Sammy," Dean whispered. "I promise."

_**To Be Continued.**_


	18. Breaking

_A/N: Thank you all for your patience with this story (and my others) and thank you so much for reading your reviews. Thank you to Trasan. Happy Valentine's Day everyone!_

**Gifts**

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Breaking**

The soft light that preceded dawn lit the hospital walls, the clouds heavy with rain, a damp cold touched everything causing Dean to shiver in his coat and wrap his hands tighter around the cup of coffee he was holding. He'd slipped out of Sam's room long enough to get the beverage, and had ended up in the small hospital garden on the bench. He wasn't even sure why his steps led him there—he'd hardly even been aware that he wasn't on the way back to Sam's room. Sighing, he sipped the coffee and watched a bird hopping under the bushes.

Dean was planning on taking Sam home today, he didn't really care who protested. His brother seemed to be hanging on, but Dean knew that the stay in the hospital was taking away Sam's resolve to keep fighting. He was still in a lot of pain—which was to be expected, Alan said, and Dean understood. The injuries wouldn't magically heal. What was wearing a hole in Dean's heart was the fact that the infection was still there, still not responding in the hours since the diakka was killed. Sam was still sick, still... _No, I won't even think it. He's getting better. _A little flutter of panic brushed through Dean's chest, causing an ache that nothing could take away. _Sam will get better. Sam will get better. _He kept repeating it, had been repeating it, like a mantra, not knowing if it was for his brother or for himself he was holding onto that hope.

Sam had to get better, there was no other option. Dean wondered if Sam believed him when he said Sam's legs didn't matter. He could see how that might be hard—they led a physical life and Dean had insisted on training almost as much as their father had when Sam was in his teens. And Sam had excelled at it, even though he'd complained every second. Even before he'd grown into his feet, his brother had strength and confidence, Sam just hadn't wanted to do it.

Funny, their father—and Dean, if he was honest with himself—had always believed that the physical training was what mattered on the hunt, but Sam had just proven how wrong that belief actually had been. Sam was sick, in pain, unable to walk or use his left hand and he had solved it, just like that. He'd put two and two together in that freaky brain and had an answer, a viable answer, something Dean could deal with and fight. _Huh. _A realization hit Dean out of the blue. Sam had always done that. Dean remembered when Sam had said he'd come back from California and Dean had told him he could research too, and he could—but not like Sam. His brother had an uncanny knack for being able to put together the strangest, seemingly unrelated pieces of information into a solid answer—time after time.

_Oh god. _Something caught at the back of Dean's throat, tears burning in his eyes. Sam had solved it, just like always. Nothing was different. _Oh god, oh god. _Dean swallowed hard, willing himself to hang on. Whatever had been holding him together was cracking, the breaks getting larger. Sam found an answer, Sam did what he'd always done. _Oh god. _One of the things that had been slamming in his chest since it happened, fluttering against his heart, making it ache, was suddenly gone.

Sam was still Sam.

Dean's hands started shaking, he clenched his teeth together to try and hold it in. Sam was still Sam. He swallowed again, fighting the emotion pounding through his body. He'd been terrified since Sam woke that somehow he was different, somewhere in the back of Dean's head the repeated "brain damage" had sunk in, no matter what he said. Sam was still Sam. _Oh god. _Depressed, yes, angry, yes, hurt and injured beyond belief, yes. But still Sam. Dean tightened the grip he had on the coffee cup, trying to keep control, the cup crushed and coffee ran over his hand. He took a steadying breath, trying to stop shaking.

"Good morning," Alan said from behind him. Dean jumped, took a deep breath and stood, turning towards the doctor. He saw Alan's eyes flick to the crushed cup. "Are you okay?" Alan asked gently.

"Yeah," Dean answered, his voice harsh.

"Sam's awake, he wants to go home."

"Yeah." Dean couldn't seem to force more than the one word past the lump clogging his throat. He took a shaky breath, getting ready to defend Sam's choice.

"He should," Alan said, his voice tight.

"Alan?"

"Dean, I'm sorry, I..." The doctor glanced away. "He should be home." Alan sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. "It will be better for him. You were right about that, we're going to do a few more tests, do a blood draw and send you home."

"Yeah."

"I'll be by later today and double check his meds—make sure you have enough."

"You think I'm taking him home to die, don't you?"

"Dean..."

"He's going to get better," Dean growled.

"I'll get the tests ordered, you two can be on the road in an hour," Alan said, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"He's going to get better," Dean repeated. Alan nodded and turned to go, a soft whoosh of air bringing a medicinal scent into the garden. Dean clamped down the emotion roiling through him. Sam was still Sam, he was going to... to make it. He had too. Dean tossed the cup into the small garbage can disguised to look like a planter and headed up to Sam's room.

The TV was on when he got there, he looked in. _Ah, Sammy. _His brother was staring at the ceiling and he could see the sparkle of tears on Sam's cheeks. Dean cleared his throat to let Sam know he was there before going in. "Alan said we can head out," he said as he approached the bed. Dropping a hand on Sam's arm, Dean smiled. "Which is a good thing, that freaking monster has probably eaten the bed or something." He forced a chuckle.

"Did you check on him?" Sam asked, a frown curling between his eyebrows.

"Nancy did, she said she even took him some chicken, which is all we need. It'll probably expect it now."

"Yeah, probably," Sam said with a small smile.

"Yeah." Dean gave his brother's arm a squeeze. "Ready to get dressed?"

"I guess." Sam shifted and Dean slid a hand behind him and lifted him to a sitting position. "Thanks, Dean."

"Yep." Dean pulled Sam's clothes out of the small closet, and gently helped his brother get dressed. By the time there were done, the nurse had brought the last of the paperwork so they could go. Dean helped Sam into the wheelchair, ignoring the pull across his ribs, more aware of his brother's fever than he had been on a long time. _No, he's getting better. _One of the nurses stopped them to give Sam a hug on the way down the corridor, smiling sadly at Dean as she turned to go. When they reached the door Rafe was waiting to get the keys from Dean and disappeared to pull the car up. Dean watched the Nissan move through the parking lot and sighed, quickly suppressing the sound.

"I miss her too," Sam said softly.

"Hey, don't offend the car, she thinks she's an Impala and I'm not telling her different." Dean chuckled and opened the door, carefully lifting his brother into the car and settling him on the seat before he swung Sam's legs in and closed the door.

"Too bad it's raining, it would have been nice to go by the lake."

Dean glanced at his brother, Sam was watching out the window, a wistful look on his face. There were deep lines of pain around Sam's mouth, he reached out to put his hand on Sam's shoulder, twisting just right—or wrong—to send a twinge of pain across his bruised ribs. Thankfully they were just bruised, it could have been much worse, Dean had been sure he'd felt a rib snap when the diakka had attacked.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked with a concerned frown.

"I'm okay," Dean replied automatically.

Sam huffed, his frown tightening. "You said the diakka didn't hurt you."

"It didn't."

"Dean."

"What?"

"Fine," Sam snapped, sounding so much like his old self that Dean couldn't stop a grin.

"Fine," Dean said. Sam was still Sam. That thought caused the band holding him together to break a little more. "What?" Dean asked after several minutes of silence. He could feel his brother's eyes on him and when he glanced over Sam was staring at him, a frown of concern on his face. "I'm fine."

"Sure," Sam said, not dropping his gaze.

Dean pulled into the coffee stand and ordered coffees, still aware of Sam's eyes focused on him. "Stop," he said, handing his brother a coffee.

"Stop?"

"Yeah, stop."

"Stop what?"

"Whatever, I can hear you."

"I didn't say anything."

"Yeah, you did."

"No," Sam said, lifting his coffee cup with a badly shaking hand.

"Yeah."

"No, I didn't."

"You were staring loud."

A smile spread across Sam's face. "You can't stare loud, Dean."

"Yeah you can, Sammy, and you stare loudest of all." Dean smiled back, remembering the first time they'd had the conversation.

"Nuh uh," Sam replied with a chuckle. "Hey, can we stop at the store?"

"What?"

"The grocery store, Dean?"

"The grocery store?" Dean repeated, the lump in his throat growing a little more and the cracks in his control getting bigger. He took a slow breath, damping the emotion down as much as he could.

"Yeah?"

"Okay, I need to get something for dinner," he said with a falsely bright smile he knew Sam saw right through.

Sam was still Sam.

_Oh god, I won't break in the store, please. _

**XXX**

The rain had decreased to a drizzle by the time they got to the grocery store. Sam swallowed nervously as Dean pulled into the handicapped parking spot and popped the trunk. Except for the park and Nate's shop, he hadn't been out in public since it happened. Suddenly going into the store seemed a lot more difficult than when he'd asked to stop. Sam glanced over at his brother, Dean was getting out of the car, tension in his shoulders, his teeth clenched. On the drive to the store Sam had heard—actually heard—Dean grinding his teeth together. He knew his brother was holding on by a very thin thread, and Sam was sure Alan had told Dean that the antibiotics still weren't working. The doctor had broken the news to Sam that morning when he said Sam and Dean should go home. _Home to die _was implicit in Alan's comment.

Sam was worried about Dean and what would happen to him after... Sam sighed. Something had changed about the pain, the throb that was always there beating through his body, he wasn't sure what it was—the approaching end or something else. He wasn't going to tell Dean, at least not yet, he didn't want to offer hope when there might not be any after all. Dean was hanging on to the idea that Sam would get better, or at least the infection would be cured and that would be the first step to recovery. What would happen if it went the other way was one of Sam's greatest fears.

He knew Dean would follow him—oh maybe not pull out a gun and blow his brains out right there, but he was sure that Dean would find a way out, probably by jumping into a hunt he knew he wouldn't come back from. What Nate told Sam just confirmed that.

"Hey," Dean said, pulling the door open. "You ready?"

Sam looked at the building, fear clenching a tight knot in his chest. "Yeah."

Dean put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "You sure, Sammy?"

"Yeah." Sam took a deep breath, pain was starting to creep along his spine, aching in his legs and arms, but he could do this. _I can. For Dean. _"Yeah, let's go." Dean smiled and lifted him on to his feet, a spasm of pain crossing his face as he lowered Sam into the wheelchair. Sam tried to suppress a huff of frustration. Dean was hurt, he could tell from the tight lines around his brother's mouth, and _surprise, surprise, _Dean was downplaying the injury.

Sam swallowed again, trying to still a shudder as the door got closer. Until this moment he hadn't realized that this would happen. He was terrified to go into the store, his breathing hitch and he watched several people leaving the building, not even sure why he was so wary of them. His hands started shaking as the door got closer, the fear making the pain so much worse. Tears burned in his eyes as despair washed over him. How could he think he was going to get better? He couldn't even do this, let alone walk or use his hand or deal with...

"Sam?" Dean's voice was soft. Sam opened his eyes, Dean was crouching down in front of the chair, his hand on Sam's leg. "What is it?"

"I... Dean..."

"We don't have to do this."

"Dean... I..." Sam tried to breath through the growing panic. "How can you think I'll get better if I can't even do this?" It came out more desperate than Sam intended.

"Sam," Dean began, then frowned at something. "Go around," he snapped. Sam heard an exasperated sound from behind him, and a woman stepped around them. "What a bitch," Dean said, focusing back on Sam. "Listen to me. Going into a store isn't part of getting better."

"No, Dean, I..." The ever-present fear of being helpless was pounding through him in time with his heart, ramping the pain up even further.

"No, Sam, it's not. You are getting better, we'll beat this infection," Dean said, his voice fierce. "And everything after that is just icing."

"Just icing?" Sam asked bitterly.

"It's true, Sam. You just proved that, you found the diakka and how to kill it. We're..." Dean stopped and cleared his throat, his eyes bright. "We're still a team, Sam, and that's all that matters."

"We're still..." Sam began. Something in his chest snapped, he wasn't sure what it was, but the tears broke loose and he started trembling in spite of the heavy sweater he was wearing. Dean stood, pulled off his coat and tucked it around Sam. He was just getting ready to ask Dean if they could go back to the car when the scent of baking cinnamon rolls drifted out of the building. His stomach growled softly. "Let's go in," Sam said, taking a deep breath, the comforting smell of Dean's coat mingling with the cinnamon.

"You sure?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, we should take Fim something special because we've been gone."

"A bribe you mean?" Dean chuckled and slowly pushed the wheelchair towards the door, as they got close enough for it to whoosh open, Dean dropped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "The house is probably already destroyed. Ready?"

Sam nodded, his heart pounding. It was warm in the store, the soft lighting relaxing. The bakery was just inside the door to his right, and Dean headed straight towards it. The panic seemed to have reached a peak, at least it wasn't getting worse, and Sam managed a smile when Dean stopped in front of the large glass case of pastries.

"Hi, Dean, is that Sam?" the woman behind the counter asked, smiling at them.

"It is," Dean answered, his hand still on Sam's shoulder.

"I'm Denise, Sam, my sister Sarah works at the hospital." She beamed at Sam, then turned back to Dean. "What do you want today? We just started offering our pear hazelnut bread."

"What do you think, Sam?" Dean gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"Sure," Sam said, swallowing.

"Anything else?" she said as she put the loaf in a sack.

"Not right now, thanks, Denise."

"Okay." She slipped two cinnamon rolls in the bag and wrote the price for bread, but nothing else on it. "Sarah said you liked them, Sam." She winked at them and turned to help the couple standing at the other end of the counter.

Dean handed the bag to Sam and pushed him farther into the store. The panic was still there, but the place was nearly empty, and Sam felt a little of the tension in his back relaxing as they went up and down the aisles. At Sam's insistence, they stopped by the fish counter and got half a pound of cocktail shrimp for Fim, Dean muttering about freaking monsters the whole time. Dean ended up getting a shopping basket and putting it on Sam's lap as they moved through the store.

Something about it all felt so normal that the panic started dissipating, and Sam was actually enjoying himself as they picked out items for dinners. Dean was humming and Sam was sleepy by the time they got to the check out counter, and within seconds of Dean settling him in the car, Sam was asleep.

"Sam?" Dean was shaking him.

"Hmm?" And for a split second, he was in the Impala and they were pulling up at a seedy motel, and he was warm and comfortable, then the pain was back.

"We're home."

"Okay," Sam said, shifting in the seat so it would be easier to get out.

Dean brought the wheelchair around, and after helping Sam in carefully put the groceries on Sam's lap, muttering about saving a trip—Sam understood, Dean was worried about leaving him alone in the house, and even with their talk, Sam really couldn't blame him.

"Well, the building is still standing," Dean said as he pushed Sam towards the porch.

"Did you expect it to be gone?"

"You never know with that freaking monster." Dean opened the door cautiously and peered in. "It's quiet in there... Too quiet."

Sam chuckled as they went into the apartment. It was quiet, and there was no evidence of kitten destruction—at least not yet. "Where is he?" Sam asked, looking around the living room. A tiny squeak was his answer and a moment later Fim was leaping from the back of his chair onto Sam's shoulder. Before Dean could grab him, the kitten had slid down onto the grocery bags, frantically purring. Sam was petting him when Fim's ears twitched and he started pawing, then digging at the bag with the shrimp in it. Sam laughed.

Dean snatched the bags. "Oh, no, not yet you freaking monster." He set them on the kitchen table and turned to Sam. "You should rest."

"Can I take a shower first?"

His brother eyed him for a long moment before nodding. "Sure, let me go get everything ready. You keep and eye on the monster."

Dean headed back into the bedroom and Sam heard drawers opening. Fim poked at Sam's hand and he started petting him. The kitten flopped over on his back and Sam scratched his stomach, Fim's face a happy mask of kitten joy. Sam looked up when Dean came back into the room. "I blissed him out," Sam chuckled. "Eww, he's drooling."

"Your own fault."

Fim didn't move when Dean pushed the wheelchair into the bathroom. Sam gently shooed the kitten of his lap when Dean locked the wheels so he could help him into the shower. His brother helped him onto the shower stool, double checked the waterproof cabinet, reminded him twice to call if he needed anything and left. Sam sighed, Dean was in overprotective mode, more so than he had been, which worried Sam.

The warm water felt good and Sam let it run over him while he almost dozed, the stiff muscles in his back relaxing and the spasms decreasing. It was starting to cool when he turned it off and scooted the stool over to the cabinet. He had just managed to get his shirt on when he heard a noise outside the shower door. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" his brother answered immediately.

"What are you doing?"

"Um, washing my hands?"

"Have you been out there the whole time?"

"No."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Sam..." Dean paused when his phone started ringing. "Alan? What is it?" Sam heard his brother's sharp intake of breath. "What?" Dean was breathing heavy, like he was in pain.

"Dean?"

"But you said..." There was a pause and Sam heard his brother's hurried footsteps leaving the room.

"Dean?" Sam pushed the stool over to the shower door and opened it. Fim was sitting on the toilet looking confused. "Dean?" Sam called again, his brother didn't answer—and that's when Sam heard it. A soft sob. "Dean?" _What happened? _Another sob, muffled, like Dean had a hand over his mouth, Sam had seen it before, and Sam knew the thread Dean had been hanging on to had broken, he didn't know why, he just knew Dean needed him. "Dean?" he said, worry ramping up when there was still no answer. Dean always answered.

He looked at the wheelchair, sitting just outside the shower door it wasn't far, but there was no way, it might as well have been miles.

Another sob, desperate, pained.

He had to get out there. Had to, that simple.

Sam took a deep breath and grabbed the bar in the shower stall with his right hand, looping the fingers of his left over it as well for balance, since his left arm was still close to useless. Clenching his jaw against the pain he knew was coming, he took tightened his hold, and pressed up with his legs. Standing was easy right? He made it an inch off the stool before he dropped back down. _No. _He took another breath, closed his eyes and pushed up with ever ounce of strength he had, pulling up with his arm as well.

An inch.

Another.

Another.

His knees were straightening and suddenly he was standing.

Standing.

He didn't stop as a sense of triumph flowed through him, he shuffled a foot forward, leaning heavily on the bar. _Oh god, it's so far. _He slid his other foot forward, reached out and grabbed the bar on the outside of the shower and lifted his foot the two inches over the threshold on the shower. The other foot was easier, he just dragged it and took another small step, he was almost there.

Sam took another step, his knees starting to give way, pain exploding through his back. His arm was starting to give out as well. Fim made a chirping noise, almost like he was encouraging Sam. One more step, just one more and he was there.

He made it.

Sam unlocked the wheels and, using his feet, moved the chair out into the living room. Dean was sitting on the floor, leaning against the glass doors, his head in his hands. His entire body was shaking and the soft sobs were tearing out of him.

"Dean?" Sam said quietly.

His brother's head snapped up, his face wet with tears. "Sam?"

"Dean, what is it?" Sam asked. Dean didn't answer, a look on his face that Sam couldn't describe but he'd never forget. Grief, relief, pain, joy, everything was there. "Dean?"

"Sam..." His brother was shaking his head wordlessly.

"What's wrong?" Sam was desperate, he locked the wheels on the chair and started to get up, Dean was up the next second, pulling Sam against him in a tight hug.

"Oh god, Sammy." And Dean broke, he was holding Sam up, but resting his head against his shoulder at the same time, his entire body shaking as he cried. Sam found himself crying with Dean, not sure why.

"Dean?" Sam said softly when his brother's tears slowed.

"Alan called," Dean whispered, pulling away from him, so he could look at him.

"Yeah?"

"He said..." Dean paused, fresh tears glistening in his eyes. "The blood work they did this morning."

"What?" Sam frowned, confused.

"The antibiotics."

"Dean?"

"They're working, Sam, the infection, the drugs are working."

"What?" Sam's knees gave out, Dean caught him and gently carried him to the recliner.

"He said you'll still need to take them for awhile, he's bringing more by tonight."

"They're working?"

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean said, a smile lighting his eyes, hope shining bright on his face.

And for the first time, despite the agony flowing through his back, despite the pain in his legs and arms, Sam felt the warm glow of hope as well.

_**To Be Continued**_


	19. Cookies

_lA/N: So, like Sam in Scream of the Butterfly, Dean has been refusing to budge. I kept trying to get him to move on and he would just look at me with _that_ look—you know the one—and not move. Finally he decided to let me know what was up. He said he wanted his POV for the end of the last chapter, said it was needed and insisted I start from there. Thank you all for reading and reviewing and thank you to TraSan._

**Gifts**

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Cookies**

It was warm in the bathroom, the sound of the shower was adding white noise to the background. The combination was enough to lull Dean into a doze. He hadn't slept much while Sam was in the hospital, the few hours he had managed were filled of nightmares of the night Sam had been shot. The worry, bordering on panic, was throbbing in his chest, a constant companion anymore. The small pieces of hope he'd been holding onto like a drowning man were slowly being pulled away from him. Sam was still Sam, that was everything. The fact that Sam was still dying made Dean's bones ache.

"Dean?" Sam said as the water shut off.

"Yeah?" he answered quickly, then mentally kicked himself.

Sam huffed. "What are you doing?"

"Um, washing my hands?"

"Have you been out there the whole time?"

"No."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Sam sounded frustrated and a little amused. The amused was a good thing.

"Sam..." Dean started to explain when his phone started ringing. He glanced down at the caller ID and scowled. "Alan? What is it?" he snapped.

"Dean, Sam's tests are back," the doctor said hoarsely. Dean took a deep breath. _No. _He didn't want to know, he couldn't hear the confirmation of Sam's impending death. The doctor had pretty much said Sam was coming home to die. _No. _Dean swallowed hard. "Dean, are you there?"

"Yeah," he said quietly.

"Dean, the infection..."

"What?" Dean couldn't draw a breath, Alan sounded like he was crying.

"Dean?" Sam called.

"I think we're going to win this one," Alan said quietly.

"But you said..." _You said he was going to die. _

"I know what I said."

Tears burned in Dean's eyes. He tried to take another breath, glanced at the shower door and rushed out of the room. "Alan..."

"It's still a long, hard fight, Dean, but I think we'll win."

"You think?" His heart was slamming against his ribs and the breath he kept trying to draw was stuck in his chest, unable to move around the lump in his throat.

"Yes, I think so. I'll be by tonight with new meds. We'll know for sure in a week, but Dean..."

"Yeah?"

"There's hope."

"Oh god," Dean whispered. The phone slipped out of his hand as his knees gave way and he slid down the glass doors to the garden. The tears that had been locked inside since the shooting couldn't be denied anymore. He'd cried when it happened, cried once with Nate, but this was different. This was so very different. There was hope. _Oh god._ Sam was going to make it. He choked back a sob, not wanting Sam to hear, and pressed a hand over his mouth as the sobs started to break loose. He thought he heard Alan call his name, he reached blindly for the phone and snapped it close, still trying to keep the tears in check.

Hope.

He thought he'd been holding on to it, holding on to the idea that Sam would make it, but it had been pulled away with every word from a doctor, every day Sam was in the hospital, every vial of medicine and every moment his brother slipped further away. It had been so long without any hope, so long without anything to hold onto but his own repeated words that Sam would be okay.

The tears were burning hot over his cheeks and the sobs puffed out of him despite his efforts to keep them in. He put his head in his hands trying to regain control. He was shaking, he could feel the tremors running through his body as he fought the emotion that was going to drown him. Swallowing hard, he started to shove it all back down. He hadn't broken when Sam had been shot, hadn't broken when Sam's heart had stopped under his hands, he wouldn't break now. He wouldn't.

"Dean?"

Dean looked up, feeling the cold of drying tears on his face. His brother was in front of him, shirt crooked, one leg of the sweats over a foot. But Sam was there. No, that couldn't be right, he'd left Sam in the bathroom "Sam?"

"Dean, what is it?" Sam asked, radiating concern, a tight frown curled on his forehead "Dean?"

"Sam..." Dean started shaking his head, his control starting to shatter, cracks buzzing across the surface like slowly splintering glass.

"What's wrong?" Sam looked at him, and when Dean didn't answer, Sam leaned over and locked the wheelchair with a hand that was shaking so badly he missed the brake on the first try. Dean couldn't move as he watched. Sam managed to get it locked and started to stand. On his own. He was really there, trying to stand on his own.

"Oh god, Sammy," Dean whispered and got his body to move. He stood and pulled his brother up and against him. After a moment, trembling arms wrapped around his back and it all gave way.

He broke.

Hope, the word echoed through his head. Finally, after all this time, it was the soft glow of hope that splintered him beyond recovery. Before he could stop himself, he leaned his head against Sam's shoulder as the tears gave way.

"Dean?" Sam asked, his voice full of tears, something almost like dread whispering through it.

_Oh, god, he must think it's bad. _It was that thought that let Dean still the desperate sobs. "Alan called," Dean said, pulling away from him, so he could look at Sam.

"Yeah?"

"He said..." Dean paused, fresh tears burning in his eyes, hope now squeezing against his heart. "The blood work they did this morning."

"What?" Sam frowned, confused.

"The antibiotics."

"Dean?"

"They're working, Sam, the infection, the drugs are working," Dean said, his voice catching in his throat.

"What?" Sam was completely motionless for a moment. He didn't take a breath, Dean would almost swear he felt Sam's heart skip a beat, then Sam's legs gave way. Dean caught him and gently helped him sit in his recliner.

"He said you'll still need to take them for awhile, he's bringing more by tonight."

"They're working?" Sam asked, meeting his eyes, tears making them bright.

"Yeah, Sammy," he said, dropping his hand onto Sam's chest. His brother's muscles were tense with pain. Without a word, he slipped into the bedroom and grabbed some of Sam's pain meds, carried them back and gave Sam the dose. "Don't even say it."

"I won't, not this time," Sam said with a small smile.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

"No. Dean..." He blinked as the drugs started to take hold. "I..."

"It's okay," Dean said, putting his hand back on his brother's chest. "Take a nap, we'll talk when you wake up."

"Kay." Sam closed his eyes and an instant later his breathing evened out into sleep.

**XXX**

A gentle nudge on his face pulled Sam to the surface of velvet sleep. He drifted in the space before consciousness, enjoying the lack of pain and the comfort at the edge of sleep. For the first time in what seemed like a lifetime the warm glow of hope was still burning in his chest. The touch on his face came again, followed by something cold on his cheek. He ignored it and listened to the soft snores coming from beside him.

Sam had been worried about Dean since the panic attack, more than worried, it was fear that had been pounding through his body in time with the ever-present pain. Fear for what would happen to Dean is Sam died, fear of what would happen to Dean if he didn't. Grief too, for his loss, for Dean's, for the Impala. The infection wasn't gone yet, the injuries were still there, he didn't expect it all to just magically go away, or for the pain instantly be gone. But he did have that little light of hope. It didn't make Sam's pain go away, but it helped him hang on through it. Maybe it helped Dean a little, that hope. Maybe it took some of the emotions that were grinding his brother down and made them bearable. Maybe. He hoped for that too.

As he became more aware, pain started creeping back along his spine, aching along his legs and arm. Taking a deep breath, he tried to will it away. It had changed, the throb had altered, still pulsing in time with his heart, but there was something different about it. He would have to wake Dean soon, the pain was starting to spike upwards.

He heard a sound and something slimy and wet hit his chin and slid slowly down his neck to land on his chest. A moment later he was poked again, this time the gentle touch followed by the prick of a tiny claw. Sam tried to ignore it, but there was no chance of that, when the cold thing on his chest was attacked by a small flying body. Sam opened his eyes in time to see Fim pounce again, paws splayed as he fell on the brightly colored toy mouse, rolling over before picking it up in his mouth and looking at Sam.

"Okay," he said softly, taking the mouse from Fim and tossing it across the room. The kitten leaped off his lap and tore across the rug. Fim picked up the toy and raced back, climbing up the chair to drop it. Sam laughed softly and threw the mouse again.

"Sammy?"

"Hey," Sam said, turning towards his brother. Dean had dark circles under his eyes, the lids puffing from crying. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I wasn't asleep." Dean sat up. "I was just resting my eyes."

"And practicing snoring?"

"I have to keep my skills honed."

"Oh yeah, right." Sam smiled.

"Shut up, Sammy." Dean frowned at him. "Do you need something?" Without waiting for an answer, Dean brought him his pills and a glass of coke. "I'm going to take a shower before I cook dinner."

"Thanks, Dean. Can you help me to my wheelchair?"

"Why?" Dean replied quickly—too quickly.

"What?"

"Why do you want to get up?"

"I, uh, just..." Sam shrugged.

"Sam?" Dean met his eyes, holding them for a long moment. Sam wondered what his brother saw there, but whatever it was, Dean nodded and got the wheelchair. He carefully helped Sam into it and turned the chair to face the TV. "I'll be right out."

"Take your time," Sam said, smiling at his brother. He could see that despite what had happened, Dean was still on the edge. The tense line of his shoulders as he walked away said it all, there was hope, but Dean was still bracing for the worst.

Sam waited until he heard the shower door snick closed before rolling himself into the kitchen. He had a plan, it wasn't much, but he hoped it might help a little. While they were in the store, Sam had added some items to the basket on his lap. He didn't know if Dean had noticed them or not. His brother had been distracted, flirting with the checker, and then had loaded the items into the trunk without looking at them.

Sam smiled as he pulled a saucepan out of the cupboard and set it on the stove. He had to open several drawers before he found the measuring cups and a set of measuring spoons. By the time he had those on the pull out cutting board, Fim was on his lap, watching what was going on with round eyes. Sam laughed softly when he got the milk carton out of refrigerator. The kitten started purring loudly. He pulled a clean saucer out of the dishwasher, put it on floor and poured a small amount of milk onto it. The kitten hopped down, making it easier for Sam to get the rest of the ingredients onto the counter.

There was a bad moment when he tried to pull the sugar out of the lower cupboard. It was too heavy for him to manage and tears of frustration burned in his eyes. He stared at the bag for several long moments, fighting the tears and the sense of helplessness. Pulling the saucepan off the stove, he turned his chair to leave the kitchen, then stopped and turned back to the bag as an idea occurred to him. _I'm an idiot, why didn't I think of this before? _He picked up the measuring cup off the counter and scooped the sugar he needed out of the bag.

Once the sugar was in the pan he added the milk, butter and chocolate and turned on the heat. Within moments the scent of warm chocolate filled the kitchen.

_Sam felt helpless. His seventeen-year-old brother had been ill for long enough to seem like forever. A simple wound had gotten out of control, and that combined with exposure to a virus had very nearly killed Dean, and the days of fighting the illness had left him weak and irritable. He was starting to improve when he found out that the two victims they'd tried to save had died in the hospital. When their father left two days before, he told Sam that Dean needed to eat, needed to gain weight before he could heal all the way. _

_Sam was trying everything to convince his brother to try a little food. The problem was nothing seemed to taste good to Dean and he rejected almost everything, including pizza, tacos and ice cream. Sam went to school every day with a heavy heart, half-expecting Dean to be seriously ill again when he returned at the end of the day. He hated leaving in the morning with that fear pulsing through him, but today had turned out better than he'd expected. Since he'd started the new school late in the term he'd had to take whatever classes were still open and ended up in Home Ec class. Which until now had been a bad thing._

_Sam had stopped off at the small grocery store on the way home and bought the items he'd needed. They already had milk, margarine and peanut butter and the other items weren't too much. He hoped that maybe, just maybe, Dean might be willing to eat these._

_When he got to the apartment, he dropped the groceries and went to check on his brother. Dean was asleep with his back to the door. Sam stood there, making sure Dean was breathing okay before he walked back to the kitchen and started putting the ingredients into a pan. He stirred carefully and the room filled with the smell of cooking chocolate._

"_Sammy?" Dean called just as Sam finished putting the cookies to cool in the pan. _

_Sam put three still warm cookies on a plate, grabbed a cup of coffee from the pot and carried them back to his brother. Dean was sitting up, scowling at the door and Sam walked in. "Hey, Dean, how do you feel?"_

"_Thirsty. Oh, thanks," Dean said, taking the cup Sam handed him. "What do I smell?"_

"_Cookies." Sam put the plate down on the bed and looked at his brother. "We learned how to make them in class."_

"_They look like crap."_

"_They do, kinda," Sam agreed. _

_Dean picked one up and sniffed it. "Chocolate?"_

"_And peanut butter."_

"_What are the lumps?" Dean asked, picking at one with a broken fingernail._

"_The chucks from the peanut butter."_

"_Nope. It looks like." Dean frowned at him. "Is that oatmeal?"_

"_No?"_

"_Dude, it is."_

"_Try it? Please?" All the worry he'd been trying to hide came out in the quiet plea. "Please? One bite?" _

"_One bite? Where have I heard that before?" Dean grumbled but took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. He took another and chased it with a swallow of coffee. "Not bad, Sammy, but it's better with coffee." Dean smiled for the first time in two weeks and Sam felt the tight band around his heart give way. He smiled back and Dean punched him gently in the arm. "Thank you. Now, go get the pot and bring back more cookies, too."_

_Over the years, the cookies had become something more than just chocolate, oatmeal and peanut butter. It had become a way for Sam to deal with helplessness, something to offer his brother after a bad hunt, something to say everything they never said._

Sam finished cooking the chocolate as the memory drifted away. He added the peanut butter and oatmeal and stirred them in. His arm was starting to ache and it was getting harder and harder to grip the spoon. When he tried to pick up the saucepan, he realized he was getting close to the end of his endurance, so he slid the cookie sheet he'd covered with waxed paper as close as he could to the burner and just tipped the saucepan over, spreading the hot mixture over the sheet.

His hand started to slip as he was pouring the last of the boiling hot mixture out. He tried to grip the handle tighter, but there was no strength left. _Maybe this was stupid. _The saucepan was heavy enough to start the cookie sheet on a slow slide towards him. Sam tried to get his left hand up in a vain hope of stopping it when a hand closed over his and lifted the pan away. Dean set it back on the stove and slid the cookie sheet back from the edge of the counter.

"You made cookies," Dean said, staring at the sheet.

"They're more bars, I couldn't spoon them out."

"You made cookies," Dean repeated.

"I got the stuff when we were at the store."

"You made..."

Sam turned to his brother, Dean had tears shining in his eyes, a wide smile on his face. "I made cookies," Sam answered.

"Thank you," Dean whispered, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. They stayed like that for a moment, then Dean smirked at him. "What, no coffee?"

_**To Be Continued**_

_A/N II: I know it's still months away, but I am looking for photo ops for the Vancouver Con. Merisha is coming all the way from South Africa and we are going together, but the ops were sold out long before I could snag them_.


	20. Grab Bags

_A/N: Thank you all for your patience with me over the last months, I am crawling into the light, but dang, someone moves the mouth of the cave every now and then. But here is a chapter of Gifts. Many of you have asked about it and I haven't forgotten, nor will I slam dunk an ending. This is a gentle, slow story and I will not change that. Thank you all for your lovely reviews, notes and awesomeness. Thank you to TraSan. _

**Gifts**

**Chapter Twenty**

**Grab Bags**

_The bar was smoky, the crowd full of chatter and occasionally loud laughter. Dean pulled his focus from the nearly naked woman at the bar to watch Sam drift through the room. The bartender was doing something distracting when Dean sensed a chill in the room, a second later four loud pops, he was turning before the monster finished with Sam, racing across the room to fall to his knees beside his brother. There was no life under his hands, he hadn't gotten there in time, Sam wasn't breathing. Sam wasn't... His brother was gone, nothing he could do could save him, he put his hands over the wounds as the room around him began to fill up with Sam's blood. "No, Sammy, no," he sobbed. _

"Dean!"

_The voice sounded like Sam, the tone burbling through the blood, as Dean desperately tried to bring Sam back, looking down at his brother's legs, missing, the useless bits being chewed on by a dog. _

"Dean!"

_He was drowning in Sam's blood, watching Sam's lifeless eyes stare accusingly up at him. And then they were floating, being carried on the sea of blood to another room, men in white telling him Sam was alive, but not, dead, let him go, his brain was gone and all around Dean the walls were covered with..._

"DEAN!"

Something hit Dean in the chest, followed by an angry squeak. He opened his eyes and found Fim staring at him, his tail twice the size it usually was as he stared at Dean with his bright green eyes, growling the whole time. "What the hell?"

"Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean glanced over at Sam's bed, his brother was sitting up, the oxygen tube tight against his face, one leg off the bed as he stared at Dean. "What is it, Sam?"

"Are you okay?"

"Of course I am." Dean snapped. Sam frowned at him, that all-knowing Sammy frown that let Dean know his brother knew he was lying. "What is this monster doing on me?"

"You wouldn't wake up," Sam said, his voice desperate.

"You threw the cat at me?"

"No, I tossed his mouse on you, he got up there all by himself." Sam sounded winded, and Dean swallowed his angry words, knowing the effort that it took for Sam to get up, and the panic that had to have prompted the movement.

"Great, now you are using cat weapons," Dean grumbled, glancing at the kitten who was still fuzzed up and staring at him. "What?" he asked the cat.

"He thinks it's breakfast," Sam said softly.

Dean looked at the gray light coming in through the curtains. "I'm going to call Nate..."

"No!" Sam interrupted him. "You've missed too much work because of me. I can sleep in my office."

"Sammy..."

"NO!" Sam shouted, then started coughing, holding an arm to his chest. "Hurts."

"Let me get something," Dean said, grabbing Sam's meds from the table beside his bed. Quickly clearing the port, he gave Sam a dose then kept a hand on his brother's shoulder while they took effect. "Sammy..." Dean could feel the tension in Sam's muscles, things might be looking up but they still had a long way to go. Sam shook his head, Dean took a deep breath—but let it go. "Fine, I'll get the IV going and take a shower before work. We can stop for coffee and muffins. I'm sure Pooh's breakfast everything muffin has more nutrition than an entire cow."

"Thank you," Sam said as Dean eased him back onto the bed and went to fetch the antibiotics, hooked Sam up and headed into the shower. As he closed the door, the nightmare was still playing in front of his eyes. Dean turned the water on and leaned against the wall letting the water wash over him as he tried to get control. The dream was getting worse, not better, every seeming step towards improvement just made it worse, and his conversation with Alan the night before hadn't helped. He sighed and finished up and stepped out.

"Yeah, really? Thank you so much," Sam was saying to someone. "It's just something stupid. Yeah, we can start today, we should be there in an hour."

"Sam? Who are you talking to?"

"What?" Sam snapped his phone closed as Dean stepped back into the room. "Jessie."

"Jessie?" Dean asked as he unhooked the IV and cleared the port. He got Sam some clothes from the dresser and laid them on the bed. "Do you want help?"

"I can manage..." Sam stopped when Fim grabs the sleeve of his sweatshirt, rolled over and started "gutting" it. "Um, I can manage if you feed Fim?"

Dean picked the kitten up, with a squeak Fim climbed out of his hands, up his arm and onto his neck and started licking his hair. "Just great," Dean muttered as Sam chuckled. He carried the kitten into the kitchen, the creature leaping from his shoulder onto the counter before Dean was halfway into the room. Fim was purring madly and rubbing against the jars on the counter top. "No!" Dean picked him up and set him on the floor and reached for the canned catfood, as he did, the kitten climbed up his leg, tiny claws slicing through the thick fabric of his jeans. "Freaking monster." He pulled the kitten off his leg and set it—and the food—on the floor. Fim attacked the food with a growl his tail twitching back and forth as he ate.

"I'm ready!" Sam called from the bedroom. Dean walked back and helped his brother into the wheelchair. Fim escorted them as far as the front door, then with one of his odd chirps dashed back into the house. "Maybe we should..." Sam began.

"We can view the destruction when we get home," Dean laughed, opening the door to the Nissan. He heard Sam's sad sigh and put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "It's okay, Sammy, I told you she has a good home."

"I miss her, Dean."

"I do too," Dean said softly. "But that doesn't change the fact it was the right decision."

He ignored Sam's grunt of disagreement. The loss of the Impala did hurt sometimes, but having a home for his brother was more important, and Dean had no idea how to tell Sam that without it becoming the chick-flick moment of the millenia, and they had enough of those lately as far as he was concern.

Dean pulled out and headed towards the coffee stand. Pooh had her head out the window before he pulled up. "Dean! It's so good to see you, I was worried! I'll have your coffee and Sam's latte ready in just a minute. Do you need old muffins for the ducks?"

"We might, we'll take a walk after work, thank you Pooh. And can we get some of your breakfast meal muffins?"

"Of course!" She handed over the coffees and a box with the muffins and then a brown bag with the day-old pastries. "Those are for the ducks, Dean, not you."

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said with a smile, he passed the muffins over to Sam.

"What are in these things?" Sam asked, opening the box lid.

"As near as I can figure out everything that will fit in the muffin tin."

"Is this bacon?" Sam picked at something in the pastry.

"Yep."

"In the muffin?"

"Yep."

Sam took a cautious bite, then smiled.

"Tastes just like them, doesn't it?"

_It was summer and they were staying with Grandma Opal while their father and every other hunter they knew hunted something north of the border. John had left them at the farm knowing they would be cared for if anything went wrong. They spent their days playing in the field behind the house, splashing through the pond and watching the pixies and sprites play in the woods. Their father told them they were fireflies, but Grandma Opal insisted they were pixies and it made the summer more magical thinking of them that way. _

_Mornings were extra special. Grandma Opal was always up at dawn, checking on things as she liked to say, but then she made breakfast. Four days out of the week she made her special pancakes. Worried about nutrition for "boys who are growing like weeds" she devised a recipe that included just about everything in it, but tasted amazing with a little butter. _

_When they visited her over the years, she always made the everything cakes at least once, for Dean it had become one of the flavors of home. _

"It does!" Sam took another bite, following it with coffee. "I think I always told her it would be better with coffee."

"She didn't want to stunt your growth." Dean grinned. "Too bad about that."

Sam laughed and threw a little piece of muffin at him, Dean took a deep breath. It felt almost normal.

**X ****X X**

Music was blasting from the repair bays, the drums pounding in time to the whine of the tools. They had been at the shop for three hours, and he could hear Dean singing along with Iron Maiden. His brother has checked on him about an hour before, insisted on giving him a pain pill and asked repeatedly if Sam would rather sit in the chair in the repair area before Sam had chased him out saying he wanted to nap. The depression that dragged at him like a weight all the time was a little better today, being up, looking forward to meeting with Jessie was helping. A soft tap on the door woke him from a light doze.

"Sam?" Jessie said, opening the door. "Is it a bad time?"

"No."

"I put the box in the car. It's in a shopping bag on your side."

"Thanks for taking care of that for me," Sam said with a smile.

"You are going to regret it, believe me, when you get done helping me." Jessie set several huge books on the desk and sat down.

"I told you I'd help you study."

"Yeah, but I might not have mentioned how important this is." He blushed and stared at the back wall. "It's not like my folks don't have the money, you know, they've been saving for my school since I was three months old, but if I can win this it pays for everything. Full ride! And mom and dad can use the money for the shop or for themselves to take that stupid trip they've been talking about since I was like seven."

"Stupid trip?"

"They want to go to Patagonia."

"Patagonia?"

"Yeah, crazy, right? And they want to take the cruise around Tierra Del Fuego and all." Jessie grinned. "I would love to be able to give that to them, you know?"

"I think you winning this would mean a lot no matter what the money."

"Yeah, it would."

"Okay, where do you want to start?" Sam asked, dragging one of the books towards him with his right hand. It took everything he had to manage it, every ounce of strength and a blaze of pain through his body even though it was his "good" hand. He was sweating when he finished, but Jessie let him without offering to help.

"You grabbed the right one, that's Latin. How is your Latin, by the way?"

Sam laughed. "Not bad, depending on the situation." He opened the book. "Okay... Let's start with Plutarch."

"Okay, you two, that's enough for now," Nancy's voice broke into their studies some hours later. "You need to go for your walk before it gets too dark, Sam."

"Is it that late?" Sam glanced up at the clock, it was almost three-thirty.

"Not really, but Dean looks like he needs a break, and you need your walk, so I'm throwing you both out for the day."

"I'll go help Dean pack up," Jessie said, standing quickly and dashing out of the room.

"I'm not going to ask what you two are up to. I think I know." Nancy smiled at Sam. "Thank you for helping him."

"Thank you for helping Dean," Sam said simply.

Nancy came over and hugged him gently. "Nonsense, you're family, it's what family does."

"Jessie said you wanted to see me? Everything okay?" Dean asked from the door.

"Yes, I am just giving you the rest of the day off."

"But I just got started on the Chevelle, Nate said that..."

Nancy tapped her foot and smiled. "Sam needs his walk, Dean. He is starting to look a little tired, I think he needs out of here, a walk and then a nice warm meal."

Dean frowned at Sam. "When was the last time you took a pain pill?" He glanced wildly at the clock and dug in his pocket for the bottle of pills. "I'm sorry, Sammy, I..."

"It's okay." And until that moment it had been, he had been so focused on helping Jessie he hadn't noticed the agony beginning to creep along his spine or the deep ache in his left hand. He took the pills from Dean without argument and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the throb in his body. _Will it ever end? _He stopped the thought, things were better, there was hope and...

"Do you think it's a good idea to take a walk?"

"We got muffins for the coots, Dean, the world could be in danger remember?" Sam said, keeping his voice light. The panic on his brother's face worried him. He knew Dean was having nightmares, and for some reason they were getting worse. They would have to talk about that sometime soon.

"Okay," Dean still sounded dubious, but he pushed Sam;s wheelchair out to the car and opened the door. "What's that?" he said, reaching for the bag.

"NO!" Sam shouted, then smiled sheepishly. "Not yet."

His brother narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything as he helped him into the car and put the chair in the trunk. When he got into the driver's seat, Sam saw his brother glance at the bag, then at Sam before turning the car on.

It really wasn't much, just a silly gift idea Sam had gotten one night in the bathroom. Dean had several catalogs laying around and Sam had been looking through one, trying to think of a small gift when he had spotted it.

When they got to the lake, Dean got the wheelchair out and helped Sam into it without a word, waiting as Sam reached in to get the bag and the stale muffins for the ducks. It had been gray that morning, but the clouds had burned away, an almost warm sun touching the brown leaves as they rustled overhead. A cormorant croaked from somewhere on the lake and the offended quacking of a group of mallards filled the air. By the time they reached the bench, Dean seemed more relaxed.

"Think you can stand?" Dean asked, locking the wheelchair in place.

Sam nodded and set the bag on the ground, waiting as Dean positioned himself to help Sam stand. Sam took a deep breath and moved the weight onto his feet, Dean lifted at the same time and helped him up, then moved behind him, letting Sam stand on his own. The pain was worse today, but he was determined to stand—for Dean's sake if not his own. His brother was counting the seconds as he stood, Sam's legs started to tremble at fifty and his knees started to give way at one-seventy. He managed a controlled drop onto the bench by himself and smiled up at Dean. His brother was watching him an odd look on his face—almost bleak. Sam wondered if it had to do with either the hushed conversation Dean had with Alan the night before or the nightmare. Dean had been close to a panic attack before Sam had convinced Fim to attack his brother. He opened his mouth to ask about it, then changed his mind. Not today, it could wait.

"Will you hand me the bag, Dean?"

"Sure." Dean picked it up and dropped down beside Sam on the bench.

"Open it."

"Okay?" His brother frowned and pulled out a box. "You got me a box?"

"It's from the knife company you have the catalog for. Bud-K."

"You got me a knife?" Dean said, surprised.

"Not exactly..."

"Then what?"

"_See that, Sammy?" his twelve-year-old brother said pointing at a large box full of brown paper bags._

"_Yeah?"_

"_Those are the best things ever."_

"_What are they, Dean?" Sam asked with wonder._

"_Grab bags."_

"_What's a grab bag?"_

"_The people who own the shop put stuff from the shop in there, good stuff, but you don't know what is in there until you buy it. They are the coolest thing ever."_

"_Ever, Dean?"_

"_Yep, Sammy." _

"It's..." Sam ducked his head. "It's a grab bag."

"A what?" Dean's eyebrows rose.

"A grab bag, they had them listed. Things that they got, but decided not to have in their catalog or..." He realized he was talking too fast, suddenly wondering if it was a good idea.

"A grab bag from a knife company?" Dean was turning the box over and over in his hands.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Sam said with a shrug. "Just cause, I guess."

"Here you hold it." Dean set it on Sam's lap and carefully lifted Sam's nearly useless left hand onto the edge of the box to hold it in place. Sam suspected it was his brother's way of helping with physical therapy without being obvious about it.

"Okay, I got it."

Dean pulled out his pocket knife and cut the tape then opened the box. His face lit up with a smile of completely unadulterated greedy joy like a child at Christmas. He pulled out a small box and opened it. "Pocket knife." He flipped open the blade and flicked it back then put it back in the box and set it on the bench, diving in for another. "This one has a gut hook! I always wanted one!" Another box followed another, Dean carefully working around the largest one at the bottom. Finally he reached for it and opened it, his eyes shining as he looked inside.

"What is it?"

"I... Look." Dean pulled out the survival knife. It was exactly like one he had lost the year before. Sam knew it had been his brother's favorite, he also knew that Dean had left it in the middle of the wilderness deep in the belly of a creature that had very nearly killed Sam. "Thank you, Sammy."

"Grab bags always have the best stuff."

"They do," Dean agreed. "We should head home."

"After we feed the ducks, we have to keep the world safe, don't we?"

"Yes," Dean said softly. "We do."

Sam leaned against his brother. He was starting to hurt again, the depression was creeping back a little and could tell something was bothering Dean, but for the moment he was content to toss stale muffins at the ducks and watch Dean happily polish the knife on his pant leg.

Everything else could wait until tomorrow.

_**To Be Continued**_


	21. Salami Pizza

_A/N: I know it has been a long time, but my muse has decided to move back in, so this story should be back regularly now. I'm sorry it's been so long for this one, but I promise the next chapter won't be months off. I have to stop trying to poke this story and make it go faster than it wants to go. After five false starts the boys finally say me down and explained the error of my ways. Thank you all for reading and reviewing! Hugs to you all_

**Gifts**

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**Salami Pizza**

The ducks were quacking with that affronted noise that only ducks could achieve as Dean polished the knife on his leg and Sam tossed stale bread to the gathered water fowl. Dean was watching his brother out of the corner of his eye, trying not to let Sam catch him at it, although he was pretty sure Sam knew he was being watched. They were going to have to talk, he could see that on his brother's face. Sam knew he was having nightmares, it was hard to hide when you woke up screaming in the middle of the night, but he wasn't sure why and he really didn't want to burden Sam with that weight right now.

"Dean," Sam said quietly. "Don't move, your life is in danger."

"What?" Dean answered, every instinct jumping to the ready. He held perfectly still, ready to strike.

"Look."

Dean looked down, one of the coots had ventured close enough to eat a piece of muffin that Sam had dropped on his boot. "Sam," Dean growled, ready to kill him.

Sam laughed, that bright laugh that Dean hadn't heard for a long time. "Coots, Dean, they'll eat your face without a thought."

"Yeah," Dean grinned back, remembering when he'd told Sam those very words. "They will."

Sam was still smiling as he tossed another piece of muffin at the birds. Dean watched him, the movement was stiff, his right arm was slow to respond, but he was trying, each time it was a little slower and Dean noticed there was a tightness around his brother's mouth indicating pain.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah," Sam answered without looking away from the coots that had gathered at his feet.

"You should ask." Dean got out one of the pain pills and handed it to Sam.

"You always know." His brother leaned back against the bench, moving enough so he was leaning a little against Dean as well.

"What were you doing with Jessie all afternoon?" Dean asked as he took up duck feeding duty.

"It's kind of a secret," Sam said.

"Oh?" Dean glanced over at him.

"No, I promised I wouldn't say."

"But, Sam..." Dean tried for a whine.

"That's not going to work." Sam laughed. "I told him I wouldn't say anything until we're done."

"Oh, so it's something with a time limit?"

"Dean, no."

"Bigger than a bread box?"

"No, not telling, so you might as well stop."

"A girl, I bet it's about a girl," Dean said. "No, he'd come to me about that."

"Give it up."

"Fine. See if I care."

Sam laughed at him and a moment later Dean was laughing with him. After their laughter died, they sat quietly together. Dean stretched his legs out, much to the annoyance of the coots and ducks, and just relaxed for a moment. He was aware of the warmth of Sam's shoulder against his and the soft sound of the leaves still left on the trees. The scent in the air had that distinct smell of snow to it, and he wondered if there might be a storm on the way. It had been a long time since they'd actually had the chance to enjoy the snow, years maybe.

It was a little strange thinking about that, having the time to actually enjoy the snow. For so many years they had been on the move, heading from town to town and hunt to hunt, winter had been an inconvenience at the very least, once or twice a deadly hazard. When was the last time he really had the chance to enjoy anything more than a passing moment? Not just snow but anything? The road, the car and his brother were the only constants he'd ever known. _The road's maybe gone forever, the car, but it's worth it. _

He hadn't realized his throat had gotten tight until he felt the burn in his eyes and had a hard time swallowing. Dean blinked, willing the tears to stay in his eyes, hoping his brother had missed it. Of course, that was like hoping the sun wouldn't set. Hoping to cover, Dean stretched and yawned.

"Dean?" Sam said softly.

"We should get you home, Sam, it's been a long day," Dean said, standing. He offered his hand to Sam but his brother stayed where he was, eyeing him with the Sammy look. "It's getting cold." Sam still didn't move. "The freaking monster probably ate the house."

"Okay." Sam offered Dean his hand, letting a lot of his weight rest on Dean as he stood. "Sorry," he mumbled as Dean half-carried him to the wheelchair. "I might be a little more tired than I thought."

"It's okay." Dean covered him with the blanket, unlocked the brakes and started back towards the car. About halfway back, he heard a soft snore.

When they reached the car, he managed to wake Sam long enough to get him into the seat, then buckled the seat belt on and headed towards the apartment. On the way he had a sudden inspiration and pulled into the pizza place three blocks from home. He nudged his brother and told him he'd be right back and went in and ordered the pizza. Sam wasn't a fan of most "junk" food, but Dean remembered one particular weakness.

_They'd been on the road for five days straight. Five days of mini-market hotdogs and drive-thru burgers. Dean was just not happy and his sixteen-year-old brother was miserable. Sam had been hurt on a hunt, not badly, but enough to be uncomfortable, and the long days in the car aggravated him and his injury. Dean couldn't blame him, he'd taken a couple of hard hits on that hunt as well and he was ready to jump out of the car just to escape for a few hours. _

_They'd pulled into a small town after most of the restaurants had stopped serving and Dean had gone in search of food. There wasn't much to choose from, the usual quickie-mart and bar food, until he'd stumbled on Kelly's. Technically, it was a bar and he was too young to go in, but no one bothered to card him, especially since all he looked at was the food menu. The smell of the place was enough to set his mouth watering. They made hand-tossed pizzas and Dean looked over the offerings several times before choosing one. _

_He took it back to the motel, Sam was stretched out on the bed, rubbing his injured leg and aimlessly flipping through the channels on the TV. That was a bad sign, Sammy wasn't a flipper. He usually settled on a show and watched. _

"_I got food," Dean said, flopping down on the bed beside this brother._

"_Pizza, oh, hurrah," Sam muttered._

"_Remember that place we stopped at years ago with the salami pizza?" _

"_In Tacoma, I think, the salami crisped up and crunchy like bacon," Sam said._

_"Check it out!" Dean opened the box with a flourish._

Dean walked back to the car with the pizza in hand, the smell of the salami bringing the memory back as clearly as if it has happened the day before. He opened the door to the car and Sam stirred awake, blinking at him and staring at the pizza box.

"That smells like..." Sam said.

"It is, Italian dry salami pizza," Dean said, getting in and handing the box to his brother. "No picking off the good bits until we get home."

"Okay."

Dean looked over, planning to catch his brother in the act and making a joke about it, only he realized the box was in Sam's right hand and the left hand was just lying on top of it. Dean swallowed and looked away. What Alan had told him about Sam's hand and legs was beginning to haunt him, maybe that's what was causing the nightmares. He had to figure that out before Sam got around to wanting to have that talk because...

Dean heard something. He looked over without turning his head and watched the agonizingly slow progress as Sam slipped his left hand over the top of the pizza box to the edge and slipped a finger under the cover and lifted it. It took another long, long moment for him to grab a piece of salami off the pizza and pull it off, but he managed and lifted it out of the box with a grin on his face.

"I told you to wait until we got home," Dean said gruffly, hoping to cover the emotion in his voice. _He did it, he did it!_

Sam used his right hand to help lift the salami slice to his mouth and took a bite. "I didn't hear you."

"No more!"

"Right." Sam finished his piece with a grin and looked at the box, then up at Dean.

"Sam."

"What?" His brother looked at him with that innocent puppy-look that had gotten them out of more trouble than Dean liked to think about.

"I'm immune to the look, besides we're home." Dean pulled into the driveway, got the wheelchair out of the trunk and helped Sam out. He handed the pizza to Sam and pushed him up onto the porch. "I'm a little afraid to find out what's happened while we were away."

"He can't do that much, Dean, he's just a kitten."

"A freaking monster of a kitten," Dean said, opening the door. The house looked normal. "Oh, this is bad."

"There's nothing wrong."

"I know, that's what worries me." Dean pushed Sam into the kitchen and put the box on the table. "I'll be right back, I want to clean up before we eat."

Dean headed into the bedroom, grabbed some clean clothes and debated taking a shower. It wouldn't take long, and he really had gotten grimy at work. He finished in record time and as he was changing, he could hear Sam laughing and a strange sound coming from the kitchen. He walked a little faster than usual into the living room and stopped.

Sam was at the table, and he'd put out plates, glasses and napkins. The pizza box was carefully centered on the table and on top the box, going at it like it was a dying wildebeest, was Fim. Little bits of cardboard were flying as he dug at the box with his tiny claws. Fim was growling and purring at the same time and Sam was laughing. It had been a long time since Sam had laughed, and twice in one day, just for no real reason, without that edge of hysteria that had marked it recently, was such a relief Dean nearly lost it.

"That monster better not be hurting that pizza," Dean said, walking up to the table. The box was almost completely destroyed.

"He hasn't gotten to it yet."

"I'm not sharing pizza with it," Dean grumbled. He lifted the kitten onto the floor and opened the lid—or what was left of it. Within seconds Fim was climbing his way up Dean's leg and onto the table, heading straight for the food. "Oh, no!" He grabbed the kitten right before Fim leaped onto the pizza.

"I bet if you gave him some he would behave." Sam was laughing at him, Dean knew it.

"Fine." Dean turned to get a plate for the cat when he noticed there was already one on the table. "Cute. Did you two plan this while I was in the shower?"

"I just thought it would save time," Sam said with a smile.

Dean pulled out a slice, cut it into small pieces and put the plate in front of the kitten. Fim took a piece, dropped it on the table beside the plate, started growling and swishing his tail back, ate it then repeated the process. "Does he have to kill everything before he eats it?"

"Probably."

Dean grabbed a piece and let Sam handle his own without help unless he asked. His brother pulled a piece out onto his left hand, then used the right to lift it up and hold it in place so he could eat. Dean couldn't help smiling as Sam took a second piece. When his brother reached for a third, Dean felt himself grinning like an idiot, but did his best to keep it hidden behind his own slice of pizza. Sam didn't finish the third piece, but Dean was ecstatic.

"Do you want to watch some TV, Sammy?" Dean asked, putting the pizza in the refrigerator.

"Sure, will you help me over there?"

"Yeah." Dean finished what he was doing then what Sam was actually asking him sunk in. "You want to walk?"

"With help?"

"Okay. On three. One, two, three," he said and started to lift Sam out of the chair. He felt his brother trying to help, the muscles trembling with effort. "Good job."

"Yeah," Sam said quietly.

They walked slowly to the chair, Dean letting his brother do as much of the work as possible. By the time they reached the recliner he was carrying most of Sam's weight. He lowered his brother into the chair and flipped the heat on.

"Thanks." Sam smiled and Dean sat down beside him and turned on the TV, there was a football game on. A few minutes later he dropped off to sleep.

**X X X**

"NO!"

Dean's shout brought Sam out of a sound sleep. He opened his eyes, he was in the bedroom, the TV droning on some old movie. They'd moved in there after the game was over. Fim was sound asleep on his chest, stretched out, belly up, paws extended over his head. Sam thought for a moment he'd dreamed the cry when Dean shouted again. Shifting in the bed, he saw his brother sleeping in the chair beside him, hunched over at an angle that was sure to leave him with a sore neck. "Dean!" When Sam didn't get a response, he reach over, it seemed to take forever, and touched his brother's shoulder. Dean was awake in an instant. "Dean?"

"Sam, what is it? Are you okay?" Dean looked around the room with wild eyes, the remnants of the nightmare still there.

"You were dreaming."

"Oh." Dean leaned back with a sigh.

"Dean..." They had to talk about it. Sam sighed. Getting his brother to talk was going to be difficult, he was sure of that. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to get a handle on the pain that was creeping up his spine and along his arms. It was getting to the point of needing a dose of meds but those made him so dopey it was hard to stay focused on a conversation.

"You need something." Dean got up.

"No."

"No?"

"Not until we talk."

"You know that's not how it works, right?" Dean said, lifting an eyebrow.

"How what works?"

"Torture. You're supposed to hurt me, to make me talk."

Sam looked at him steadily. "No meds until we talk, Dean."

"That's just stupid," Dean growled. "It's nothing."

"Dean," Sam said. He took a deep breath and started again. "I can't do much. I can't even get from the kitchen to my chair without help. Eating two and a half pieces of pizza exhausts me..."

"Which is why..."

Sam held up his hand. "But Dean, maybe I can help with this? Let me help a little? Whatever is weighing you down, Dean, it's not something that requires a lot of walking. Please?"

Dean frowned at him, considering the situation. It was a look Sam knew all too well. They had spent their lives relying on each other's judgment, and to be caught in a place where he didn't think he could ask would be hard for Dean. He didn't ask often, but when he did, he needed it. Sam tried to keep the spasm of pain in his back from showing on his face.

"So, what, you're going to torture yourself until I talk?" Dean snapped, crossing his arms and looming over him.

"Maybe." Sam ground his teeth together. _This might be a mistake. _"I can't sleep at night with all the screaming. It frightens Fim."

"Oh, forgive me, the freaking monster is my main concern."

"He should be, you should see the way he puffs up, it's traumatic." Sam pressed his lips together. _Yeah, this is a mistake, just ask for the meds. _

"Fine," Dean said, stalking off to the drawer where he kept the meds. He was back a few moments later with the medication in hand. "But you take it before we start."

"Dean, I get too fuzzy."

"If you get fuzzy, I promise I'll wait."

"Dean?"

His brother smiled at him. "I double secret pinky swear, Sammy," he said, holding out his little finger. Sam took it and they shook.

"Okay, double secret pinky swear."

Dean gave him the meds, then sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall. Fim got up, stretched and reached a paw out towards Dean with a little _chirrup. _ His brother absently scratched the cat and the silence stretched between them.

"Dean?" Sam finally said, the pain was backing off, but the fuzziness was getting the upper hand.

"They change."

"What does?"

"The nightmares, every night we're in the bar, but they change, sometimes it fills with blood, sometimes there are brains splattered on the walls, sometimes..."

"Something happens every time, Dean, what is it?" Sam asked, meeting his brother's eyes.

"How do you do that?"

"What?"

"Just know that?"

"I know shit, Dean," Sam said with a soft laugh, mimicking Dean's words. "What is it, in every dream?"

"I..." Dean stopped. He swallowed hard and his eyes were suddenly bright.

"Dean?" Sam laid his hand on his brother's arm. "It's getting better. I'm getting better." Sam caught the flinch before Dean could stop it, but he decided to let it go. They would deal with that later. This was first. "What happens?" he asked again, his mouth starting to feel numb.

"You die, every time, Sammy, you die."

"When Alan called did he say I was dying?"

"No." Dean looked away, so Sam knew there was a lot more to that conversation than Dean was telling him.

"Dean."

His brother continued to stare out the window.

"Hey," Sam snapped. Dean focused on him. "I double secret pinky swear I'm not going to die." He held up his finger.

Dean looked at it for a moment then took it. "Okay. You better not."

"We're going to talk about the rest tomorrow," Sam said, losing the battle to the meds.

"Sam..."

"You promised."

"I did. We'll talk, Sammy, tomorrow."

_To Be Continued_


	22. Pot Roast and Hot Chocolate

_A/N: So, here is it. I am sorry I have been MIA and AWOL on this story for far too long. Honestly, this is an incredibly personal story and when a few curve balls were thrown my way it made the emotions go a little wonky. I promise it won't be so long. Sam and Dean had a long conversation with me and helped me get over that little block, and gave me the nicest hugs. I pass those hugs, along with a few hugs hugs of my own to all of you for your patience with me and this story. I know it's been a long time. Thank you all. _

**Gifts**

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**Pot Roast and Hot Chocolate**

A gentle prodding on his nose pulled Sam from his sleep, still fuzzy from the meds, he didn't respond. Another soft poke followed by a very careful claw on the very tip of his nose. Sam managed to not move, wondering if it was a mistake, when a moment later Fim changed tactics and the prodding paw was replaced by a rough tongue. When Sam tried to move, the kitten pinned him in place with tiny claws and continued.

"Getting a facial, Sammy?" Dean asked, his voice amused.

"I guess so," Sam answered, opening his eyes, then froze. Fim didn't appreciate the movement, and placed both paws on his face and peered down at him.

Dean laughed and picked the cat up, dropping him on the floor before turning back to Sam with a smile. "Do you want to take a shower before work?"

"Yeah, thanks." Sam let Dean help him up and into the shower, waiting until his brother left before turning on the water and letting the spray relax muscles that were already aching. Waking up in pain was the hardest part, the worst part of the day. There was that brief moment, caught between sleep and waking when his body was not registering the every present agony, but it passed all too quickly and the pain was back. If he could get free of that, just that, it would be so much better.

When he was finished he scooted his shower chair over to the waterproof cabinet Dean had built and got out a towel and clothes. He glanced around the room at the safety bar, the cabinet, the large shower stall, all the things his brother had done to make this easier for him to live normally while he was recovering. _Or if... _Sam stopped the thought. He wasn't sure he was ready to face that and he knew Dean wasn't, although he was beginning to suspect at least some of Dean's nightmares were the result of that phone call from Alan. It had been bad news. Sam could tell, but Dean wasn't ready to believe it.

That was the thing about his brother. Dean just refused to quit. When they were younger, Sam had watched his brother fight his way through injuries to keep Sam and their father safe. More recently he had watched Dean work through things that would cripple other men emotionally and physically and keep going. "Keep Calm and Carry On" should have been tattooed on Dean's forehead.

_But he's not right now. _Sam could see the small cracks becoming fissures. His brother was hovering close to a panic attack almost all the time. It worried him, Dean could only hold on so long before he broke, Sam had to make sure that didn't happen. Dean promised they would finish their conversation today, but Sam figured his brother would find another reason to not have the discussion, despite the binding pinky swear oath.

"Did you drown?" Dean's voice was casual, but Sam heard the tension hovering under the surface.

"Yes, Dean, I drowned in the shower," Sam huffed.

His brother opened the stall door and peeked in, when he saw that Sam was dressed, he stepped in. "Breakfast is ready, assuming the freaking monster has not hunted it down and killed it."

"You left it on the table?" Sam asked as Dean helped him into the wheelchair.

"Of course not." Dean pushed the chair into the living room just in time to see Fim take a flying leap from the table to the cabinet. "Hey! Get away from there!" Dean raced towards the kitten, Fim grabbed a piece of bacon in his mouth, jumped off the cabinet and dove under the chair. "Give it back!" The kitten growled, the fur on his back fuzzing into a ridge.

"I don't think he wants to give it back."

"He can't just steal it! He has to wait his turn." Dean sounded so indignant, Sam couldn't help laughing. His brother looked up at him with a sheepish grin. "Fine, you can have it."

Sam rolled to the cabinet and picked up the plates and silverware and set the table, watching Dean get the IV antibiotics ready. When Sam reached for the toast, he stopped for a moment when he got a good look at it, then smiled and put it on the table. "Everything's ready."

"Why is the toast white?" Dean asked as he flushed the port and hooked Sam up.

"You didn't make it that way?" Sam looked up innocently.

Dean grabbed the bread. "Yeah, Sammy, I made it then peeled the buttered part off. That freaking MONSTER!"

"You left it out."

"You think it's funny? Fine, you eat the skinned toast."

"Fine, I will."

"Fine."

Fim chose that moment to appear on top the table—from the grimace of pain on his brother's face, the kitten had climbed Dean's leg. Fim considered the bacon, eggs and toast and with a little chirp headed straight for the bacon. Sam stopped him. Dean sighed and set a small plate of eggs with crumbled bacon in front of the kitten. Fim lashes his tail once, then settled in to eat with his growling purrs.

"I think it's going to snow," Dean said as they finished.

"Snow?" Sam smiled. How long had it been since they'd had a chance to actually enjoy the snow? Years, since they were children, maybe. _No. It was that winter when I was fifteen. _Sam smiled. John had been hunting something, Sam didn't remember what it was, he really hadn't cared at the time. What he did remember was the six days he and Dean had spent at a cabin in the woods.

_Sam woke to silence, like something had muted the world. The only sound was the soft not quite snore of Dean from the upper bunk. Sam slipped out of bed, through the cabin and cracked open the door. He couldn't stop the happy thrill or small chuckle. It was snowing, the flakes falling straight down from the slate gray sky. Stepping out onto the porch, he looked up, the clouds stretched as far as he could see, and it didn't look like the snow would stop any time soon. He grabbed an armful of wood and went back into the cabin. _

"_Sammy?" Dean was sitting up._

"_Yeah?"_

"_Everything okay?"_

"_It's snowing." Sam couldn't keep the grin out of his words. _

"_Is it?" Dean hopped down and headed for the door while Sam stoked the fire. "It's snowing!"_

"_Really?" Sam laughed. "Are you sure?"_

"_Bite me, bitch." Dean grinned. _

"Sam?" His brother's voice cut into the memory.

"What?" Sam blinked, Fim was sitting on the table in front of him, both front paws on Sam's plate, gazing at him with the same look Dean had on his face.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I was just remembering that week at the cabin."

"Oh." Dean smiled. "Hot chocolate and pot roast."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Although I think it was closer to beef stew."

"It was pot roast," Dean said firmly. "And I know. I made it."

"Right." Sam took the pain pills Dean handed him and chased them with a little coffee, noticing Dean watching the slow movement of his right hand. He tried to ignore the way his brother held his breath as Sam lifted the cup, and Sam knew that this was part of it. A huge part of it. There was more. Sam swallowed. One thing at a time.

Jessie was waiting for them when Dean pulled the Nissan up at the garage. He pulled the wheelchair out of the trunk and had the door open for Sam before Dean was out of the car. "Dad needs your help Dean," Jessie said.

"What's wrong?" Dean helped Sam into the chair before turning to Jessie.

"Old man Woodman brought in his Jag. Looked like the head gasket's blown and he wants it done yesterday. He's pacing in the office, Mom's trying to keep him calm and..." He stopped as Dean swung the door to the shop open and Nate's voice could be heard. "And my father's not happy."

"You okay?" Dean glanced at Sam.

"Yeah."

Without another word, Dean jogged into the work area of the shop. Sam watched as his brother tapped Nate on the shoulder and the other man all but hugged Dean. A moment later, they were both bend over the engine of the large green car. When Nate called for a toolbox, his voice was definitely calmer.

"They'll be busy with that for a few hours." Jessie pushed Sam into his office. "And I finished what I needed to do already." He grinned. "I brought the books in, I hope that's okay."

"That's great."

"I'll get us coffee, and can we start?" Jessie asked eagerly.

"Yeah."

"Milk, two sugar, right?"

"Yeah, thanks," Sam said. Judging from the pile of books, they were working on Latin and—Sam tilted his head to read a title—history. Taking a deep breath, he used his right hand to lift his left onto the book and tried to close his fingers around the Latin tome tight enough to drag it off the pile. He could get his hand to respond a little, but there was not strength in his grip. He closed his eyes and imagined his hand closing, what it felt like for his fingers to tighten on the book, how it would feel to grasp it and pull it towards him. Pain was creeping up his arm when he felt the book begin to move, after a few more deep breaths, it dropped with a solid _thunk _onto the desk. Sam opened his eyes and smiled. He was sweating as hard as if he'd run a mile, but he'd moved the book. It was something he could tell Dean, because he knew it would be something his brother would need to hear.

"I hate to interrupt you boys," Nancy said from the door when they were deep in the Persian Wars. "But Dean and Nate need your help, Jessie." She smiled as she stepped into the room. "Dean wondered if you wanted to go home, Sam, they are going to be late."

"Late?" Sam glanced up at the clock, it was past three.

"Sorry. We missed lunch," Jessie said, standing. He was about to say something else when an inarticulate shout sounded from the shop. "Oh, that's not good. Thanks, Sam."

"Sure."

"Do you want to head home? I'm leaving, they are going to be another couple of hours and it might snow. I hate driving in snow."

"No, I'd rather wait for..." Sam stopped, thinking about snow and Dean and everything his brother had done for him lately. "Can we stop at the store? I'd like to try and make Dean dinner."

Nancy beamed at him. "That's a great idea! I'll let them know we're going."

"Don't mention dinner!"

"I won't."

Sam tried to stack the books up, but his right hand was tired and his left was back to almost useless. Jessie had been letting him do as much as he could, which Sam appreciated, but he hadn't realized just how much that had been until just this moment. With the realization came the awareness of pain. Dean had been in at one point and given him a dose of meds, but Sam had no idea of when that actually had been. The time had flown by, buried in the books, helping Jessie first with Latin, then moving on to history. Sam, though exhausted, felt a satisfaction he hadn't felt in a long time.

"Are you ready?" Nancy came back into the room and unlocked the brakes on Sam's chair. She pushed him towards the far side of the building where a small SUV was parked. Opening the door on the car, she smiled. "Think we can manage?" Sam nodded and was surprised when she levered him up and into the car easier than he would have thought possible. She closed the door and put the chair in the back before getting in. "Nate had his hip replaced last year, I learned a lot."

"Oh," Sam said, returning her smile. "Do you mind stopping at the store?"

"Already on the schedule." Nancy poked a button on the dash and the door behind them opened. She backed the car out, the sky was heavy with snow, a few stray flakes already drifting down. "Nate figures it will be enough snow that we'll plan on being closed tomorrow. It will take them a day to dig the snow plows out, it always does when it hits this early."

"It doesn't snow much?"

"Some years it does, some years we get maybe one good storm. You never know." She turned into the parking lot at the grocery store. "Do you want to come in?"

Sam thought about it. He was doing a little better in public, but only when Dean was with him. He liked Nancy, but he didn't know if he could make it all the way through the store. "Uh..."

"It's okay, Sam, I understand. What do you need?"

"Chuck steak, potatoes, pearl onions, carrots, celery." Sam paused. "Unsweetened cocoa powder and some whipping cream."

"Got it. I'll be right out."

"Thanks." Sam watched her walk across the parking lot, then leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes.

"Sam?" Nancy shook him gently.

"What?" Sam opened his eyes. They were in his driveway. "Oh, sorry."

"It's okay." She hopped down, pulled the chair out of the back and brought it around. After opening the door she locked her hand behind Sam's elbow to offer him support and he slid off the seat. Thanks to the height of the SUV, it was more of a controlled fall into the wheelchair, but it worked perfectly. She chuckled, piled the groceries on his lap and pushed him up onto the porch.

As soon as the door was open, Sam groaned.

"Sam? What's... Oh, dear, he was busy wasn't he?"

"What is all this?" Sam asked, looking at what might be a snow drift in the living room.

"My best guess would be pillows." Nancy laughed when Fim launched himself from the back of the chair straight onto Sam, immediately going after the butcher paper wrapped meat. "Bad cat!" Nancy picked the kitten up and held him so his tiny face was inches from hers. "We don't behave that way, do we?"

Fim looked at her, chirped and patted her nose with his paw.

"I am not sure Dean is keeping this one in order."

"It's all Fim's fault." Sam laughed as Nancy set the kitten down and he immediately took off towards the drifting "snow" in the corner of the room. "He is apparently a monster."

"Spoiled would be my guess."

"Yeah." Sam swallowed, all too aware of the pain crawling through his body, starting to ache with an intensity he couldn't ignore.

"I'll get your meds, honey, they we'll get dinner started." She smiled. "Don't worry. I am fully qualified. My family has had just about everything imaginable broken, bruise or otherwise injured and my father died at home." She disappeared into the bedroom and came back with a handful of pills. "If these don't help, I'll get the other, but we want to have dinner ready before I go, right?"

"Yeah." Sam took the pills and they went into the kitchen.

**X X X**

Dean eased the Nissan carefully down the street. It had started snowing in earnest and the roads were slick. The car's front wheel drive was coming in handy as he negotiated the dangerous streets, made all the more hazardous by people driving four wheel drive vehicles. "The problem is they think it makes them immune to ice and snow," Dean told the car. "And it really doesn't."

He had spent the day wrestling with what he was sure was a demonically inspired engine. After fighting with the Jag for three hours, he decided that they looked cool, but he really, _really _hated them. At least their insides, or at least the insides of this particular 1956 Jaguar. It seemed to return the sentiment and he had a long gash in his hand, a slice on his forearm and his favorite pair of mechanics gloves were ruined. Finally, after Jessie had joined them, they had started making more headway. Still, it took too long and he hated it. Even though they had managed to finish, and he generally loved cars, he had to admit he'd kicked the Jag on the way past.

One of the things that had been bothering him about the work taking so long was one of the parts he'd been waiting for had come in. It was a surprise for Sam, and he was pissed he hadn't had a chance to work on it. He knew one of the things that was hardest on his brother was the lack of independence, and Dean had a plan to help. When Alan had called the other night and spoken with Dean about Sam's prognosis, Dean had been even more focused on getting the project done. Working on the apartment while Sam had been in the hospital had saved his sanity, knowing he was working on this for his brother was helping him stay calm. After consulting with Nate, they'd started working on it, and the last few parts were on the way. Dean grinned.

Sam had never really been one for long cruises in the car, but it occurred to Dean that could be because his brother had never owned a car of his own. While Dean couldn't afford a whole car for Sam right now, he could offer him a little freedom. Until Sam was off the heavy pain meds someone would have to ride with him, but Dean was fixing up the Nissan so Sam could drive it—even right now when he barely had strength in his legs and left arm. Dean watched carefully, and unbeknownst to Sam had been testing his right hand to make sure it would work for what they had in mind, and Sam had passed. So, Dean hoped in the next few days to surprise Sam with a set of car keys.

With a sigh, he realized he should stop and get something for dinner, but he was just too tired. There was soup in the house, and with the snow it was a perfect night for soup. He was pretty sure he had hot chocolate somewhere.

"_Dean," his six-year-old brother said, his face inches from Dean's._

"_What? The alarm didn't go off, go back to sleep."_

"_No school today," Sam whispered with a note of awe in his voice._

_Dean stuck his nose out from under the blankets and blinked. There was daylight against the window, but it was muted. "Why?"_

"_SNOW!" Sam shouted with glee, dragging the blankets off Dean. "Come see!"_

"_Really?" Dean was out of bed a minute later, following his brother to the door. He looked out at the falling snow. "We better make some hot cocoa quick, Sammy!"_

"_Why?" Sam turned to him, his eyes wide and serious._

"_If you drink hot cocoa when it starts snowing, it makes it snow longer."_

"_Really?" Impossibly, Sam's eyes got wider._

"_Really!"_

"_Then we better make some fast!"_

"_We better!" Dean closed the door and headed to the microwave to heat up the water for the chocolate. He pulled out the can of whipped cream and added it to their mugs. When it was finished they sat together by the window, watching it snow, sipping the cocoa. _

Dean pulled up at the house, the lights were on in the living room and he could see the TV against the curtains. As he got closer to the door, his nose started twitching. Something smelled good. He never got a chance to open the door, Sam must have been waiting, it opened in front of him and he was greeted by his brother, the kitten and a mouth-watering aroma. _Pot roast. _Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. "You two look innocent."

"He ate a cushion," Sam said, rolling out of the way as Dean came in and took off his snow-covered shoes. "I made him sweep it up."

"The cat?"

"He's very talented."

Dean couldn't help laughing at the smug expression on both Sam and Fim's faces. He glanced over at the table, it was already set, with a pot sitting in the center. "You made dinner?" His voice cracked, betraying far more emotion than he'd intended.

Sam chose to ignore it. "Nancy did most of it."

"Pot roast?" The stupid lump in his throat was getting bigger.

"Yeah, I hope that's okay?" Sam looked unsure.

"Okay?" Dean repeated stupidly.

"Dean?" Sam frowned at him, the full squinchy frown.

"I'm starving," he said, clearing his throat. He walked into the kitchen and sat down, noticing there was a third plate for the cat. Rather than wait for the kitten to crawl up his leg, he just scooped it off Sam's lap as his brother went by and dropped it on the table. "What? Saves time."

"What happened to your hand?"

"Oh." Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. "Remember when I said Jags were one of the coolest cars ever?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, there is at least one that sucks. I am not saying they all do, but there is one that needs salting and burning, and maybe a little holy water in the radiator and the gas tank."

Sam laughed. "Nancy said Nate was in about the same frame of mind when we left."

"Yeah, sorry about that, Sammy." Dean served the food, noticing Sam had taken the time to get pearl onions.

"It's okay. I like Nancy." Sam was watching him.

Dean realized what it was and took a bite. He grinned. "Perfect, thank you."

"Snow and pot roast."

"Yeah."

Dean told Sam about the Jag while they ate. Sam talked about making the food and some of the things he and Nancy had discussed while they cooked. His brother seemed more relaxed than he'd been in several days and Dean attributed that to the warm presence of Nancy. In those dark days when Sam's life had hung in the balance, Dean had leaned on Nancy's quiet strength more than once.

"I have a surprise," Sam said when they were finished.

"What?"

"It's in the fridge, it needs to be reheated."

Dean got up and opened the refrigerator. A pot of chocolate sat on the shelf, and beside it a bowl of... "Is this whipped cream?"

"Homemade, Nancy helped. I mostly just held the beaters, then licked them when it was done." Sam grinned at him. "We have to have hot cocoa, or it will stop snowing."

Blinking back traitorous tears, Dean put the cocoa on the stove and turned on the heat. He grabbed two mugs out of the cupboard, and when the chocolate was hot, he poured it into the cups and added the cream. Realizing their life could be in danger, he put a small dollop of cream down for Fim. He handed Sam one of the cups, making sure his brother had a good hold before grabbing his own. Dean turned off the lights and TV, then pushed Sam over to the glass doors that led into the garden. He sat down beside his brother.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"It's okay."

"What is?" Dean asked. Fear curled in his stomach, as he wondered if Nancy had told Sam. He looked at Sam. The light reflected off the snow cast dark shadows on his brother's face.

"I think you know." Sam took a deep breath, and shifted so he could lean against Dean's shoulder. "But they're wrong."

Dean's breath caught on a sob. "Yeah." He wasn't sure if he believed it, or if Sam did.

"It's snowing harder." Sam smiled at him. "After cocoa, can we take a snow walk?"

"_Snow walks are magical, Dean, they just are," Sam at six told him. _

"Sure, Sam."

"Then more cocoa."

"Then more cocoa, just to make sure." Dean took a deep breath, caught between hope and tears and leaned against Sam, needing the comfort of his brother's shoulder at that moment more than he ever had.

_**To Be Continued**_


	23. Cars

_A/N: And so here we are, on 18-July, my fic anniversary. I can't believe how the time and the words (more than a million) have flown by. You all have been part of my ups and downs, health issues and happy occasions. Your support has been here through it all and I want to say thank you to each and every one of you, those who review, and those why just enjoy reading. I know you are all out there, and it means the world to me. I have found a family here, one who accepts me for who I am, and has cheered me on the way through so much. I wish I could hug you all. Consider this a massive virtual hug to each and every one of you._

_A/N II: I couldn't think of a better way to celebrate. Thank you all for your patience._

**Chapter Twenty-Three  
Cars**

The snow was drifting down, sparkling in the streetlamps as they headed outside. Sam was bundled up, complete with a blanket on his lap. He'd protested but Dean said it was the blanket or no "snow walk". Even though he was in the wheelchair and his brother was pushing, it had the same magical quality that "snow walks" always brought, just the two of them surrounded by the hushed world of the falling snow and the air filled with the scent that belonged only to these special walks. They'd been taking them for as long as Sam could remember, just the two of them. When they were kids, depending on where they were staying, hot chocolate often awaited their return. It would this time too, they'd left enough to heat up again for after the walk.

Sam wasn't worried by Dean's silence. These walks were generally silent, the only conversation when one of them noticed something out of the ordinary. Somehow it seemed wrong to break the quiet around them. Dean stopped and pointed, a husky was out in his yard madly chasing snowflakes, then stopping and rolling in the fallen snow with glee, only to be up again a moment later chasing another snowflake. Sam held his breath for a moment, then laughed when he heard Dean start to laugh as well.

That's when it hit him.

As terrible as things had been—with the never-ending pain, the uncertainty hanging over their heads—Dean laughed more. Whether it was watching television or the antics of Fim, his brother laughed. It had been a long, long time since Dean had that carefree note in his laughter. Sam was beginning to wonder… No, he'd cross that bridge when they came to it, but a plan was beginning to form, and as soon as Dean came clean about what he and Alan had discussed, Sam wanted to be ready.

The pain was beginning to creep up his back. Dean must have sensed the change, because he turned the wheelchair towards home. The tire tracks were already filling as they headed down the sidewalk. The snow was starting to fall much thicker, and by the time they reached the porch, it was getting hard to see the houses around them. As soon as Dean opened the door, Fim flew past them like a gray streak, jumped off the porch and into the snow.

"Get back here!" Dean turned to chase after him. Fim didn't need the encouragement. After one bound, up to his nose in snow, he turned and in three large leaps, jumped onto the porch steps and raced back in the door. "Freaking monster! Shut up," he said, rounding on Sam, a grin on his face.

"I didn't say anything," Sam said, grinning back.

"I heard what you were thinking." Dean pushed him inside and stopped long enough to take off the ten layers he'd put on Sam when they left. He moved the wheelchair over to Sam's recliner, helped him in, then headed into the kitchen. "Hot chocolate?"

"Of course." Sam was tempted to ask Dean about Alan, but he was happy, Dean was happy and despite the pain crawling through him, he wanted to keep the mood. He didn't have to ask about meds, Dean had them in his hand when he came back in with the hot chocolate. Dean opened the curtains and turned off the living room light and they sat together in the quiet, drinking hot chocolate and watching it snow.

The snow let up early the next day, but Nate kept the garage closed for another full day, waiting for the snowplows to move the immense pile of snow they'd left in the driveway to his shop. He was upset about it, and when Dean invited Nate and Nancy to dinner, Nate had muttered off and on about the "damned snowplows" and Nancy would pat his hand and he'd stop—for a minute or two. Still, it had been a nice dinner, and Sam noticed that even though Dean watched him like a hawk, his brother was relaxed and joking around with Nate.

Everything would have been perfect, except that night Dean woke screaming, then brushed Sam's questions aside. Sam was a little too doped to keep a conversation going, and he knew Dean was avoiding the issue despite the promise to talk about it. Sam did manage to stay awake long enough to hear his brother turn on the TV, and he drifted back to sleep listening to _Spinal Tap. _ His last thought before he was all the way asleep was that Dean must have a secret superpower that let him know when _Spinal Tap _was on, because he always seemed to know.

In the morning, Dean was up, looking like he'd never gone back to sleep. He had breakfast on the stove when he pushed Sam into the kitchen. His brother quickly flushed the port and hooked up the IV, then set a cup of coffee down in front of Sam.

"Where's Fim?" Sam asked.

"Devouring bacon and cream in the laundry room."

"Why is he in the laundry room?"

"Because that's where he took the bacon," Dean said, setting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of Sam. "I gave him the cream in hopes we could have a quiet breakfast."

Sam smiled. "Do you think you can get rid of him that…" He broke off when he saw the grimace of pain on Dean's face and a moment later Fim hopped onto the table. "…easily?"

The kitten looked expectantly at Dean until he had a small dish of eggs for himself. He started eating it, his tail lashing back and forth.

"Does he have to growl?" Dean asked in exasperation.

"Yes." Sam smiled. "I think it's required."

"Right." Dean sighed and sipped his coffee. "Do you want to come to work with me today?"

"I was planning on it, Jessie is expecting me."

"Are you going to tell me what the two of you are up to?" Dean asked.

"When I can."

"Okay, fine."

"Fine," Sam replied with a smile.

They finished breakfast in silence. There was tension in Dean's shoulders as he gathered their things together, and the tension didn't ease on the way into the shop. Sam knew his brother was expecting him to talk about what was causing his nightmares and Dean wasn't ready, even though he'd promised. There was no reason to press it on the way to work, and Sam just sat back and enjoyed the drive, the way the world looked so changed under the blanket of white that glistened in an almost too bright sun.

Jessie was waiting at the door to help Sam out of the car. Once he was in the wheelchair, Sam was surprised when his brother backed out and then pulled into one of the shop bays.

"What's going on?" Sam asked Jessie.

"I've been sworn to secrecy, sorry, Sam." Jessie pushed the chair into Sam's office. "I was telling one of my friends about how much you've been helping me, especially with the Latin for the exam, and she told one of her friends, and well…" He started blushing.

"What?"

"We were wondering if you would consider teaching a class for the continuing ed program at the college—you don't have to have a degree to teach, and the pay depends on how many students you have, and you would have at least 10 students, maybe more."

"Me?" Sam frowned, his throat tight. "Teach?"

"You're awesome at it! And patient, believe me. No one else has been able to help, and I paid a few tutors from the University to help and they weren't any good." Jessie sat down and smiled. "Just think about it for a day or two?"

"I will. I promise. Now, what are we working on today?"

"The Renaissance."

Sam smiled and reached for the book. It was heavy, but Jessie, as always, let him drag it over, no matter how long it took. Sam was sweating by the time he had it in front of him, and they started work. The whole time Sam was turning over the idea of teaching at college. Even though it was just continuing education, it was teaching at a college—maybe he could finish his degree. He filed that away into "the Plan" as well.

XXX

Nate was waiting for Dean just inside the shop. They had planned the morning to get the car ready for Sam to drive once he was off the heavy duty pain meds—and no matter what else Alan said, he had assured Dean that the pain would lessen over time. Once the infection was gone, Sam should be able to function as normally as possible.

Of course it was that "as possible" that was haunting Dean. He was dreading the moment when he had to sit down and talk about it with Sam. It was not going to be easy, and even though Sam had seemed happier the last few days, Dean knew that depression still dogged his brother. It appeared every once in a while—he would notice Sam staring off in the distance, or when they were watching an old episode of _Dragnet_ an Impala had been in one scene and tears trickled over Sam's face. No matter how many times Dean explained it, Sam still felt guilty over the loss of the car.

The nightmares were getting worse, Dean had no idea why. Things were looking up—mostly—and the nightmares were getting more and more horrific. He'd called and spoken with Alan late the night before, and Alan thought it was the reality of the shooting and everything else finally catching up with Dean. _"It's called PTSD, Dean, and it happens. It doesn't mean you are weak," Alan said. _ That wasn't very comforting. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life reliving the shooting every night, and watching the blood splatter the walls or his brother's lifeless body beneath his hands.

"_What's bothering you, Dean?" his fifteen-year-old brother asked. _

"_Nothing, Sammy," he answered a little too quickly._

"_Oh, because I thought when you woke up screaming and spent the day jumping at every sound, it meant something was wrong." Sam gazed at him, his eyebrows curling up into a squinch. "Dean?"_

"_It's nothing! It's just sleeping in this chair!" Dean snapped, then stopped and took a breath. "I've been having nightmares."_

"_I guessed that."_

"_About the case, I should have done more."_

_Sam's frown deepened. "More? You saved ten people, including me."_

"_Yeah, but you're here," Dean said, gesturing at the hospital bed. Tears were burning in his eyes. This was not the conversation he wanted to be having right now._

"_I am, but I'm alive." Sam shifted. "And I'll be out of here in a couple of days, that's what the doctor said."_

"_Three people died, Sam."_

"_Yeah, but more lived—because of you, Dean." His brother took his hand. "You need to listen to me."_

_Dean dragged his eyes away from the far wall and looked at Sam. "What?"_

"_Someone told me once that you can't always win. There are wins, but there are also losses. This one is a win," Sam said, then continued before Dean could finish. "Conditional, maybe, I did get chewed on a little, but in the end, you won, no one else stopped it, even though they tried. You saved them too and everyone that might have become a victim or tried to stop it later." _

"_But…"_

"_No buts, Dean, this is a win and when I'm out of here, we'll celebrate."_

"_Sammy…"_

"_Dean…"_

"_Fine, whatever," Dean said, trying to smile. It still felt like a loss, his brother was here, had been for three days since the creature attacked, and in those first dark hours he'd been sure he was going to lose Sam. His brother had proved the doctors wrong and survived. _

"_I mean it," Sam said._

"_Yeah."_

_Sam huffed. "What's the problem."_

"_I should have stopped it before it happened."_

"_Yeah, well, Dad and Bobby should have stopped it before we arrived. And wasn't the first account of the thing recorded by a missionary in the 1800s? He should have stopped it—but no one did, no one managed to do it until you," Sam said, his voice quiet—Dean recognized it, his brother was actually angry at him. "You stopped it, you saved me and a lot of other people, stop beating yourself up!"_

_Dean looked away from his brother for a long moment, letting the words drift through his consciousness. Maybe, just maybe his brother was right. He smiled. "_Spinal Tap _is on in ten minutes."_

_Sam sighed and punched him lightly in the arm. Dean shifted so he could lean against the bed, their shoulders in contact. Sometimes his brother was a little too insightful. Dean wondered if it would stay that way, with a deep breath he shook off his mood. Sam was mostly right, and that was enough._

"That's looking good," Nate said.

Dean smiled as he surveyed what they'd accomplished. It was all ready for Sam. A lump formed in his throat, the car symbolized something he didn't want to face. He should have… He stopped the thought. The plan was to give the car to Sam after their appointment with Alan the next day. Somehow between now and then, he needed to talk to Sam about what Alan had told him. As much as he hated it, he couldn't take Sam in to see the doctor not knowing.

"Are you boys done?" Nancy asked.

"Almost, just a few more things," Nate answered easily.

"Lunch is ready, come and sit down and finish after."

"Yes, ma'am," they said together and broke out laughing.

XXX

They had survived the Renaissance and were working their way through the Enlightenment when Nate tapped on the door. "Lunch is ready, Jessie, I want to speak with Sam. Tell them to go ahead and start without us."

"Sure, Dad." Jessie stood and smiled at Sam. "Thanks!"

"Sure." Sam smiled back, suddenly becoming aware of the pain.

"Here, I grabbed these," Nate said, dropping into the chair Jessie had just vacated and handing Sam two pills.

"Thank you, Nate."

"I wanted to talk with you about Dean," Nate said softly, as if he was worrying he would be overheard.

"Dean?"

"He is the most stubborn man I have ever met." Nate shook his head. "Watching him fight for you, then having him here in the shop. While you were still in the hospital we got this car in, the guy wanted it fixed up to drive in classic car rallies and it was a mess. I almost refused, but accepted because I thought it might help Dean to have something like that to distract him. When he wasn't at the hospital, or working on the apartment, he was here fighting with that stupid car. It helped."

"I know," Sam said. Once Dean focused on something, he didn't let it go easily.

"He's stubborn in a lot of other ways too," Nate continued.

"Oh?"

"When he first got that apartment and started fixing it up, I offered to help pay for the supplies—he said no. So I offered him a job here, that way I could help…"

"But it wasn't a handout," Sam finished for him.

"Exactly." Nate cleared his throat. "Look, even though Jessie hasn't said anything, we know what you're doing for him—and for us. It means a lot." He looked out the door and pushed it closed. "Which is what I wanted to talk to you about."

Sam ended up sleeping most of the afternoon. After lunch, Dean helped him get into the bed in the office and Sam was asleep within minutes. The food and pain meds mixed together to keep him asleep until Dean came to wake him to head home. Sam had never liked sleeping during the day, even when they were working a case all night. For some reason, waking up from a nap left him more disoriented than waking up from a night of sleep. He'd always wondered why. Maybe he'd ask Alan sometime.

When they got to the front door of the apartment, Dean opened it carefully. Fim didn't try to make an escape, so he pushed Sam into the entry way and stopped. "Son of a…."

"You left the bottom cupboard open, Dean," Sam said, trying very hard not to laugh. "He was just protecting us."

"From rabid paper towels?" Dean said, stalking into the kitchen where the "gutted" roll of paper towels was. "How can one cat, that small, do that much damage?

Sam wheeled himself over, and looked down at the mess. "Maybe it put up a fight? He probably left it for us as a gift."

"It's not funny." Dean was grinning as he grabbed the broom and started sweeping up the bits of paper.

"Which is why you are laughing."

Fim chose that moment to make his appearance, head and tail up. He looked at Dean and mewed, then looked at his "kill".

"Yes, thank you for the dead body, we appreciate you not wanting us to starve." After he'd swept up, Dean gave the cat a pat. "You were brave."

Sam burst out laughing.

Dean was chuckling when he opened the refrigerator. He put a package of hamburger on the counter and set an onion beside it.

"_We need to get something to eat," Sam said._

"_Where? There isn't anything in a million miles," his twenty-year-old brother answered. He was in a bad mood and had been growling off and on as they drove along back roads and an old highway. Their last hunt hadn't gone smoothly, and Dean had ended up with a broken rib and a slight concussion which was why Sam was driving. That made Dean's mood even worse._

_Sam could see a sign in the distance and he hoped it would be something that involved food. An injured Dean was bad enough, a hungry injured Dean that couldn't even drive his car was close to impossible to deal with. In fact at one point, while going over a one lane bridge, with Dean directing him the whole way, Sam actually considered drugging his brother with nighttime cold medicine. As the sign got closer, Sam saw it was for a restaurant and small inn. The sign was faded by the weather, and he had no idea what to expect, but he decided that they were stopping at the "Wild Daisy" no matter what Dean had to say._

_The building was almost as faded as the sign, an old ranch house turned into an inn. Sam pulled in, the paint was old, flaking in places, but the flower pots were all full of bright, well cared for flowers. He got out and walked around to help Dean, of course his brother had no intention of that happening. Dean forced himself out with a grunt of pain and stopped to lean against the car. As they stood there, a large dog wandered off the porch and came down to greet them. Dean smiled for the first time in two days. _

"_Howdy," a man said, stepping out of the house. "You boys here for food?"_

"_Yes," Sam answered, wondering what the inn had to offer. _

_They walked up the stairs and into the house, there was a small dining room to the right in what must have originally been the parlor._

"_Have a seat, I'll get you some coffee and the menus. Unless you want the special," he said enthusiastically._

"_Yeah, sure, whatever," Dean said, walking over and sitting at a table by the windows._

"_Okay!" the man said, smiling. "I'm Lee, and my wife, Daisy, is the chef."_

"_Thanks," Sam said quickly before Dean could say anything. _

"_Chef?" Dean looked around suspiciously._

"_You're being picky?" Sam grinned. "You ate a sandwich out of a machine at the gas station two days ago. You're lucky you didn't get food poisoning."_

"_It tasted fine."_

"_You said the onions tasted like soap."_

"_Well, other than that, it tasted good." Dean shifted, Sam saw him grimace. "No."_

"_Yes, we have the meds for a change and not using them is stupid." Sam pulled the bottle of pills out of his pocket and handed one to Dean._

_Lee appeared with an old teapot, cream pitcher, sugar bowl and two mugs balanced on a tray. "Here's your coffee. Your food will be out in just a few moments."_

_Sam poured them both coffee. The pot might look old, but the coffee smelled wonderful. A few minutes later Lee and a smiling woman walked out of the back of the house. They each had a huge plate of food. Sam saw his brother's eyes light up when he spotted the giant hamburger steak on the plate. He took a bite while Lee and Daisy waited expectantly. _

"_Onions," Dean said his mouth full "Right in the meat. It's…" He swallowed and cut another piece. "Amazing."_

"_I'm glad you like it. I hope peach pie is okay for desert," Daisy said. _

_Dean nodded his mouth full again. Once he finished chewing he sighed. "This might be the best hamburger steak I have ever had, it might be the best one in existence." _

_Sam smiled. Food, it always worked its magic on his brother._

Dean sighed happily as they finished. "I know they aren't Daisy's…"

"They were good," Sam said. He'd managed to finish almost half of the small steak and potatoes Dean had given him.

"We have some of that cake Nancy brought over for dessert," Dean said, clearing the table. Sam noticed the tension returning to his brother's shoulders.

"Dean…"

"I know, Sammy, it's time. Let's go into the living room," he said softly. Dean helped Sam into his recliner, then shifted his chair so he could see Sam.

"Your nightmares," Sam started after several long minutes of silence.

"Yeah?"

"They're getting worse."

"Yeah?"

"Want to tell me why?" Sam sighed. "It has something to do with that phone call from Alan the other night, and why we have an appointment at the hospital tomorrow, not his office."

Dean put his head into his hands. "Sammy…"

"My prognosis, Dean."

"Yeah."

"Am I dying?"

"What?" Dean nearly shouted, looking up at him. "No!"

"Then what?" Sam waited, Dean didn't say anything and put his head back in his hands. "Dean?" Still nothing. "Dean!"

His brother finally looked up, tears in his eyes. "He said that the infection will go away, and the pain will get better."

"But?"

"Oh, god, Sam, I'm so sorry." The tears were trickling over Dean's face. "He said…"

"That the rest of me isn't getting any better?" Sam offered.

"Sam…" The anguish in Dean's voice was painful to hear.

Even though he had half-expected this, it still hit him harder than he thought it would. That dark depression that had been gnawing at him, that, at one point, convinced him that he was better off dead was suddenly there hammering against his heart. Never to walk more than through the apartment, or a few steps leaning heavily on Dean—or someone else. To have one arm that sort of worked, the other that didn't. It meant the end of a lot of things. All of them swirled through his mind as he looked at Dean. The news hadn't been hard for him to hear, it had shattered him. Dean had been holding on to more hope than Sam, and it was a bigger blow.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"They told you I wasn't going to make it, didn't they?"

"Yeah."

"Or if I did, I would be brain damaged."

"Yeah."

"Why do you think they are right about this?" Sam asked gently.

"We won't be doing a lot of hunting," Dean said, the silent tears still flowing over his face.

"I'm sure there are some things around here, we've already dealt with one," Sam said.

"What about all the other people? All the other…"

"Why is it your responsibility? Ours?" Sam huffed. "Dean, Dad told me once that he never wanted that life for us, he wanted you to have a home."

"He did? When?" Dean asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"Remember the vampire nest?" Sam asked. "When you went to get the dead man's blood, Dad and I had a talk."

"He said that?"

"He did," Sam assured him. "This isn't a bad place to call home, at least until I am up and around."

"Sammy…"

"I know, Alan said I wouldn't, but I don't believe that." Sam smiled. "That's your fault. You made me walk at the lake. I made it into my wheelchair from the shower all by myself and I can stand for almost five minutes. They are wrong, and until then… You have a job you like?"

"Yeah, I love working at Nate's."

"I was going to wait to tell you, but I think you need to know this now. I have a job, too."

"What where?"

"It's a teaching job at the college," Sam said proudly.

"What?"

"Jessie helped, there are a lot of students who need help with their Latin for grad school, and for the entrance exams at St. Fiacre University. I called today, and I start in a month."

"Teaching college?" Dean grinned, even as the tears continued down his face.

"Yeah, and if we can get this far…"

"Nothing is going to stop us," Dean finished and nodded. "You're right. They've been wrong all along, that means they are wrong now."

"Exactly."

**XXX**

Dean actually managed to make it the whole night without nightmares. There had been one, a bad one, but it didn't linger the way they had been before. He should have just sat down and talked to Sam right after Alan called. Sam had been so depressed, though, he wasn't sure what the news would do. He never expected that his brother listened to him, never expected that the conversation with Sam would leave him feeling lighter than he had in years. Not even Fim's attempt to devour all of breakfast before Sam's IV was finished changed his mood. Even though they had an appointment at the hospital, Dean couldn't shake the happy feeling.

When they got into the car, Dean smiled at Sam. "I… uh…"

"What?" Sam asked as they pulled out, headed towards the espresso stand.

"Watch." Dean grinned as he tried out the hand controls. "This is acceleration, this one is the breaks. You still have to use the gear shift, but it's an automatic, so all you have to do is put it into drive."

"You…"

"It's yours, Sam, as soon as Alan clears you to drive. You can use it to get to the college." Dean glanced over, there were tears in his brother's eyes. "Sammy?"

"Thank you, Dean… I…. Thank you," he said, tears in his eyes, but a small secret smile playing on his face.

They got coffee and day old muffins for the ducks and drove into the hospital. Dean handed his keys off to the valet and they headed in to Alan's office at the hospital. He was waiting for them, and hustled Sam off for a series of tests practically before Dean finished saying good morning. They were back an hour later, Sam looking tired and in pain, Alan looking grim.

"Well?" Dean asked.

"It's what we talked about, Dean," Alan said. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah." Dean looked at his brother. "Sam?"

"I've got it, don't worry." Alan flushed the port on Sam's line and gave him something. A moment later, the tightness on his brother's face relaxed a little. "We've set up a physical therapy schedule, both for at home and once a week here, at least for a month or two. Sam said he's been getting around the house a little?"

"More than a little," Dean said quickly.

"Good." Alan was quiet for a long moment. "The odds are against you, the tests say that the diagnosis is correct." He smiled at both of them. "But I don't believe it, not after seeing you beat every single thing along the way. It will take time, but I know you will get better."

"Don't worry," Sam said quietly. "I already am better." Dean nudged him gently. "Really."

"Good!" Alan stood. "I'll be by Wednesday for dinner."

"Make sure you bring that cake with you," Sam said with a smile. "The death by chocolate one."

"I will."

Dean stood as well, and pushed Sam out of the office. Some of the nurses waved, recognizing him from the days he'd spent here waiting to see if his brother would ever be able to leave.

"I've been tutoring Jessie," Sam said out of the blue.

"You have?"

"Yeah, it's how I heard about the job at the college." Sam was grinning. "Jessie wanted this scholarship, and he needed some help to pass."

"That's great!" Dean said, gently thumping Sam's chest with his hand.

"Nate insisted he pay me for it," Sam continued as they reached the door.

"Oh? How much?" Dean was distracted for a moment by one of the nurses walking by. He pushed Sam out into the valet waiting area.

A moment later his mouth went dry as he heard the very distinctive rumble… The large black car turned the corner and pulled up in front of them. "Sammy?"

"Nate took the other car back to our apartment," Sam said.

Dean was speechless, his throat tight and he knew there were tears in his eyes. "Sammy, you…"

"Yeah, I did. Thank you for never letting me give up, for being there, for everything, Dean."

Dean couldn't help walking over to the Impala and ran an affectionate hand over her roof. With a smile he turned back to his brother and helped him into the passenger seat, tucking the wheelchair easily into the huge trunk. He got into the car, reveling in the sound the door made as it closed. He revved the engine, hearing her purr and put her into gear.

"Sam…"

"Dean…"

He glanced over at Sam, his brother's eyes were wet as well. Dean put his hand over Sam's and gave it a squeeze. It felt like the missing piece of his life had been restored. Wiping the tears off his face, he pulled out of the hospital parking lot and headed back to the apartment.

For the first time in their lives, they were headed home.

_**The Beginning**_

_A/N III: Many of you don't know that a lot of the emotions I tapped into in Gifts came from my own experience with illness. I was seriously ill when I started writing this, and was anticipating getting "all the way better". Well, life had something else in mind, and I find myself living with a serious chronic illness. On the positive side, I plan on returning to this verse and revisiting them in their new lives. Thank you all again for reading and reviewing and your patience with me! _


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